Shifting Realities
by M.E. Magnificent Entity
Summary: Something is wrong. It seems that the only person who remembers the existence of Harry Potter is Harry himself... COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: Disappears From View

**Shifting Realities**  
by M.E. (Magnificent Entity)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, however I do own the librarian and her friend.  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP  
Summary: Something is wrong. It seems that the only person who remembers the existence of Harry Potter is Harry himself... 

Notes: Right. The plot of this story is loosely based on a dream that I had... I think it might have been some sort of demented hybrid made from about four or five different Harry Potter fanfics that I've read, so if any of this seems familiar to you, that's probably why. 

/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 1: Disappears From View 

What can you do  
When it is clear to you  
That your dreams will not come true 

Where can you go  
When everything you think you know  
Disappears from view 

– "Adjust Your Dreams," Christine Lavin 

Even though they had all seen it coming for three years, in the end it still caught them by surprise. Voldemort and his Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry three weeks before the end of the school year. It soon became apparent that his plays for power over the years following his return to the living world three years before were mere skirmishes, all of them leading up to this one, final battle. 

Harry struggled to his knees, wand clutched in hand, and glanced around himself, taking in his surroundings. He thought that he might be on what had once been the Quidditch pitch, though he wasn't sure anymore – the ground was torn up, and it was hard to see through the heavy rain. Before him, someone stood tall and erect, facing the opposite direction. In the fading light of day, it was hard to see who it was. 

The figure turned towards him slowly. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the identity of the other person. The person who had haunted his nightmares since the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts. Voldemort. 

Grasping his wand, Harry jerked his left hand upwards, pointing it straight at the pale white face before him. His green eyes didn't seem quite human any more behind the glass of his spectacles, and there was a spark of insanity in them as he quietly spoke the words of the spell. 

There was a flash of sickly green light, and then Harry was falling forward onto the muddy ground, exhausted. As his head hit the ground, he smiled softly. It was over, it was finally over. Then his eyes fluttered shut and all he knew was blackness. 

---

Someone was rapping on the door. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Harry fumbled about for his glasses. Finally finding them, he carefully put them on, then made an unsuccessful attempt to climb out of bed. Unsuccessful because he instead ended up hitting his head on the ceiling, and falling back into bed. He blinked in surprise, and for the first time he noticed where he was. The cupboard under the stairs at number four, Pivet Drive. 

"Get up, you lazy boy! Up! Now!" the piercing voice of his Aunt Petunia demanded from the other side of the door. 

"I– yes, Aunt Petunia, just let me get dressed," Harry replied automatically, cautiously swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. He rubbed his head, and tried to figure out what was going on. /Let's see,/ he thought to himself, /last thing I remember, I was on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, and I'd just.../ He sat up straight, nearly banging his head a second time, /I'd just killed Voldemort./ But that couldn't be right. If he'd been at Hogwarts, then he should be waking up in the hospital wing, not in his old cupboard. And that was another thing – what was he doing in the cupboard? Why wasn't he in his bedroom upstairs? 

The rapping on the door again. "Boy, what's taking you so long? Get. UP!" Harry blinked, then started searching around for some clothes, and pulling them on. As he dressed, he decided that he must have made it to the hospital wing at some point, since his right arm was working fine, and he distinctly remembered having broken it during the battle. Dressed, he glanced around a second time, this time looking for wand. He couldn't find it. /That's strange.../ 

Shrugging, Harry opened up the door, and stepped out of the cupboard. He was surprised to see all three Dursleys standing right outside of the door. As soon as he was standing up, his uncle shoved a suitcase at him. "Right then, Harry. It's your eighteenth birthday and you are no longer my responsibility. Now get out," he gestured enthusiastically to the front door. 

Harry looked down at the suitcase, then around the hall. His birthday? Since when was it his birthday? And then there was the matter of his missing wand... "Excuse me, Uncle Vernon, but is my wand in there? I couldn't seem to find it in the cupboard," his eyes skimmed the room, "and I don't see my Hogwarts trunk either." 

Laughter from Dudley was the only response that Harry got , other than the stunned looks on the faces of his aunt and uncle. "Did you hear that, Mum?" asked Dudley, still laughing. "Harry thinks he has a wand. Hey, Harry, is your wand a magic wand? Can you do spells and things with it?" he sneered. 

Petunia Dursley ignored her son's taunts, and instead looked at her nephew in horror, "Good gracious, Vernon. It seems the boy's gone and lost his wits." 

"Well, it was only a matter of time," Uncle Vernon said gruffly, "good thing we're getting rid of him today." 

And then, before Harry could protest or ask any more questions, he was shoved along down the hall, and out the door, which slammed shut behind him. Harry stood on the porch of the Dursley residence, one hand on his hip, the other holding the suitcase that had been thrust at him. "Well, this is just bloody great," he grumbled to himself. Stupid Dursleys wouldn't even let him get his Hogwarts stuff, they were so eager for him to leave. "Wonder why I'm here anyway. I should be at Hogwarts, and there should be almost two months until my eighteenth birthday." 

But if the Dursleys wanted him out, he wasn't going to argue. He was tired of them anyway, tired of having to always put up with them and do exactly what they wanted. /I don't need them anymore,/ Harry reminded himself, /I've got friends now. And Ron and Hermione are almost as close as siblings, so I've got other family too./ Maybe he could send an owl to Ron and – 

Owl. Wait a minute... /Where's Hedwig? Is she still in her cage in the bedroom...?/ Setting the suitcase down on the porch, Harry circled around to the side of the house, hopped the gate, and then climbed up the arbor on the side of the house to the second story. Seeing that the window was open, Harry called out quietly to his owl, "Hedwig, it's okay, I'm going to get you out of there." He came up even with the window and pushed it up and open a bit more, sticking his head in. He looked around inside, maybe he could get his trunk and stuff while he was at it as well... 

No cage, no owl, no trunk. Nothing of his. In fact, it looked just like it had seven years ago, when it was still Dudley's second bedroom. "Whoa," Harry said to himself, "freaky. It's almost like the last seven years never happened." Shaking his head, he climbed part way down the arbor, then jumped free, managing to land on his feet when he hit the ground, though he did make a bit of a racket. 

"Petunia, what was that? Was it the neighbor's cat again?" Harry heard his uncle ask from the kitchen. Cursing silently, Harry climbed back over the gate and went back to the porch, where he'd left the suitcase. Picking it up, he walked over to the curb of Pivet Drive and sat down, trying to understand what was going on, and placing the rather beat up suitcase on his lap. 

Thumbing the latches, he popped it open. Inside he found some old clothes of Dudley's, and and a five pound note. Well, at least it didn't look like the Dursleys wanted him to starve to death... at least not right away. Five pounds wasn't going to go very far for food, and since something told him that this time the Dursleys weren't joking about throwing him out, he also didn't have any place to spend the night. Closing the case, the latches clicked back into place, and Harry stood up, holding the suitcase in one hand, and started down the street. He needed to find a telephone. 

---

Harry eventually found himself at the local public library. There, he pushed open the door, and looked around inside. He had seen the building before when he'd gone shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley before he had gone to Hogwarts, but he had never gone inside. Aunt Petunia hadn't believed that he would be able to behave himself on his own and she herself never went to the library, so the building had always been off limits for Harry. Taking pleasure in his new-found freedom, Harry had decided that it was time for a visit. And, anyway, there might be a telephone inside. 

Stepping inside, he noticed that it wasn't that different from the library at Hogwarts. Granted, it seemed to be a bit bigger, and it had far fewer books with cloth or leather bindings, but other than that it seemed very familiar, right down to the elderly woman with a pinched mouth who was glaring at him from behind the desk in the middle of the large room. Trying to reassure himself that the librarian was not going to take away house points if he so much as looked at her wrong, Harry steeled himself and walked up to the circulation desk. 

Placing his hands on the counter nervously, Harry opened his mouth and was about to speak, when another woman behind the desk came over and started talking to the librarian in a hushed voice. The first librarian nodded, than went off to help a girl who couldn't find what she was looking for. The second librarian, a young woman with black hair, smiled at him. "How can I help you, sir?" 

"Um, I was wondering, if it's not any trouble – might I use your telephone? I've found myself in a bit of a fix, and I need to call my friend..." He'd decided while walking that Hermione would be his best bet. The young witch had given him her phone number at the end of fifth year, and he ended up using it so much when he had a chance to that he had eventually memorized her number. 

The young woman smiled at him and nodded, lifting a phone up onto the counter from a shelf behind it. Harry lifted the receiver to his ear, then dialed Hermione's number. A masculine voice answered the phone, and Harry immediately adopted the polite voice he used whenever he talked to his friends' parents. "Hi, Mr. Granger. May I speak to Hermione please? This is Harry, from school." 

"Just a minute, son." There was a short period of silence from the other end of the phone, then a familiar voice came out of the receiver. 

"Hello? This is Hermione." 

Harry sighed in relief, then started talking quickly. "All right, so I woke up this morning at the Dursleys', and I have no idea what's going on. The Dursleys were acting really weird, and they kicked me out, and I can't find any of my Hogwarts stuff. Do you think I could stay at your place tonight?" 

A heavy pause, then, "Who did you say you were again?" 

Pulling the receiver away from his ear for a moment, Harry gave it a strange look, then shrugged and put it back to his ear, "Ha ha, very funny, Hermione. It's me, Harry Potter – you know, your best friend? The Boy Who Lived? Etcetera?" 

"I'm sorry," Hermione said in a cold voice, "but I don't think this is a very funny joke. I think I would remember if one of my best friends was called Harry Potter – I don't even know any Harrys. If you're going to try to kid around with me, you might at least try to do a better job of it." There was a click as she hung up, but Harry continued to hold the receiver to his ear for a few moments more, listening to the dial tone, stunned. 

"Are you all done with the phone?" came a quiet voice, breaking Harry out of his daze. 

Placing the receiver back in its cradle, Harry slowly shook his head at the librarian. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with surprise, and said, "Yes. It seems that I've somehow stumbled into the world's greatest joke." 

"I'm sorry, I seem to have missed the punch line," the librarian replied, her brown eyes dancing with humor behind the lenses of her glasses. "Anyway, you seem to be upset about something, so why don't you tell me about it?" 

"Well, if you're not busy..." Harry said. 

"Please, it's a weekday in the middle of summer. No one's going to come in needing help any time soon, and the returned books have already been shelved for the day," the librarian waved her hand and rolled her eyes. Harry grinned at her. 

"Well, to make a long story short, it seems to be my eighteenth birthday, and my legal guardians kicked me out this morning. I just called one of my friends from school – I figured I might be able to spend the night at her house – and she got all upset and pretended that she'd never heard of me before. So I've got no place to stay, my friend is playing a cruel joke on me when I need her the most, and on top of all that I seem to be missing most of my personal possessions," explained Harry, sighing and putting his forehead down on the cool counter in front of him. 

"Wait. What do you mean it _seems_ to be your eighteenth birthday?" asked the librarian. "Don't you know when your own birthday is?" 

"Well see, the thing is is that last thing I remember I was off at boarding school and my birthday wasn't for about two months, so–" 

He was cut off by the librarian, who, despite lacking a pinched face, was managing a pretty good glare. "When is your birthday? The date, please." 

"Um. July thirty-first. I was born in 1980, but–" 

"And July thirty-first is, conveniently enough, today. And since the year is 1998, it would seem that you are indeed eighteen years old. Maybe you just have some sort of short term amnesia." She shrugged. "Now, since it seems that your friend is playing a trick on you, couldn't you just show up on her doorstep? Or maybe try calling one of your other friends?" 

Harry shifted back and forth on his feet, then looked over to the side. "Well, I don't know Hermione's address, and Ron doesn't have a phone. I mean, I guess I could look always Hermione up in a phone book, but she's being mean so..." 

"What about this Ron guy? Couldn't you look up his address? That is, if you think he wouldn't mind you showing up on his doorstep," the librarian added thoughtfully. 

"Well... Ron wouldn't mind me showing up, but I think his address is unlisted." Indeed, Harry had no idea where either Hermione or Ron lived. He'd never been to Hermione's home before, and though he had been to the Burrow, he had no idea where it was actually located. /If only I had my wand,/ thought Harry, /then I could stick it out and catch the Knight Bus./ 

"Sounds to me like you're in a predicament. Hm," she tapped her chin with her finger, thinking. "I think I know someone who could give you a place to stay for the night, but you'd have to be willing to help out at her store for the day." 

Harry looked at the librarian suspiciously, "Why are you helping me?" 

"Because you're cute and you look like you're a nice young man. Of course, for all I know, you could be a incurably criminal boy," she grinned and gave him a wink, "but I really doubt it. And my friend needs someone to help her with her used book store today – she's having her yearly big sale, and she really can't manage the entire thing all by herself." 

"So I just have to help her out with her book sale, and she'll probably let me stay the night?" he asked. 

"Yes, that's it. Look, I'll write you a note for you to give her and tell you where the store is. Whether you choose to take up my suggestion is entirely up to you; however if you decide to take it, you had better hurry, since you should be there for the as much of the day as possible, and the store opened an hour ago." She nodded to the clock, which read half past ten. 

"All right, I'll do it," Harry finally agreed, and took the note from her once she'd finished writing it. After carefully listening to her directions, he thanked her for her help, then left the library, note in one hand, suitcase in the other. 

---

Mrs. Whelton waved happily to the last customer of the day as she closed the door of the of her shop, locked it, and flipped the sign in the window over to "Closed". She then turned to Harry. "Well, dear, it seems that was the last one of them. Are you going to try calling your friend again, or will you be wanting to spend the night? You can always call her in the morning." 

Harry smiled at the little old woman from where he stood by the counter. "I think I would like to stay the night, Mrs. Whelton, if that's okay with you." He had had a good time helping out in the store today. All the books stacked every which way reminded him of Flourish and Blotts on Diagon Alley. Mrs. Whelton herself, with her short, round complexion and her curly white hair flying all over the place, reminded him a bit of Professor Sprout. 

She smiled at him and clapped her hands, "Oh good! That means I get to bake you a cake! Come on, into the back and up these stairs. I live on the second story you know – it's all fixed up as a flat. Really quite a nice little place." 

Following her into the storeroom in the back and up the stairs that he found there, Harry looked at Mrs. Whelton a bit uneasily. "Cake? What do you mean?" 

"Alice said in her note that it was your birthday. It would be dreadful for you to have a birthday without a cake, wouldn't it? And it will give me an excuse to bake one, so I won't take no for an answer!" She had arrived at the top of the stairs, where she stepped into a pleasant sitting room. "Right then, bathroom through that door, kitchen through that one, and straight down the hall and to the right for the room you'll be staying in. Just put your suitcase on the bed in there, and then you can wash up – you must be all dusty from getting books down off of the high shelves. I'll be cooking dinner and making the cake." 

Harry followed her directions and went down the hall to the door she'd indicated to. Setting the suitcase on the bed, he opened it up and pulled out the jumpers, looking for one that was only mildly revolting. As he took them out, a paper caught on the underside of the bottom-most jumper came out too, and fluttered down to the floor. Leaning over, Harry picked up the paper, turning it over to see what it was. 

He almost dropped it in surprise as he read the words on the opposite side. "Certificate of Graduation: Stonewall High" it said across the top in fancy script. However, Harry barely noticed this, his eyes were instead drawn to the name on the sheet: "Harold J. Evans". /Evans? Why would the Dursleys give me a senior school diploma for someone named "Evans"?/ The rest of the name was his own, though no one ever called him Harold, he did know that it was his proper name – well, at least the Dursleys had always said it was. And his middle name was James, after his father, so that was correct as well. But Evans? /Say, wasn't my mother's maiden name Evans? I guess it would have been Aunt Petunia's also. Maybe this is my grandfather's diploma...?/ But no, that couldn't be correct, the year on diploma was 1998. 

And now that he thought about it, Stonewall High had been the senior school he was going to go to before his Hogwarts letter had arrived. Over all, it was a rather strange piece of paper. The implications of it alone were astounding – that his surname was Evans, not Potter, and he had attended Stonewall High after primary school instead of Hogwarts. /Crazy./ 

Putting the paper down on the night stand, Harry grabbed a orange and purple striped jumper, and went to wash up. He would worry about the diploma later, he decided as he walked down the hall. Turning into the sitting room, Harry heard quiet humming coming from the first door to his right, which he remembered Mrs. Whelton pointing to and calling the kitchen earlier. The door after that would be the bathroom. 

Setting the sweater he was holding down on the rim of the bath, Harry closed the bathroom door softly and stripped off the jumper he had put on that morning. Turning to the sink, he removed his glasses, and began washing his face, grateful to be rid of the dust that seemed to be covering every inch of his skin. Dimly he wondered whether Hermione would pretend not to know him on the phone again tomorrow when he called her as he dried his face. 

Replacing his glasses on his face, he glanced up and grinned at the mirror in front of him. He didn't look a year older, but then he never seemed to look older on his actual birthday. Glaring at his wild mop of hair, he made a half-hearted attempt at finger combing the parts that he could see. As he ran his fingers through his fringe, Harry frowned. Something didn't look right about his face. He couldn't exactly place his finger on it, but it felt like something was out of place. /Let's see... nothing looks wrong. Nary a spot, blemish, or any other sort of disfiguration or scar,/ he decided after a moment's study. He froze, then suddenly pushed back his fringe, staring at the mirror. /Good lord... Not even a _scar_./ 

---

Yay for used book stores! There's nothing quite as satisfying as spending your Saturday going booking : ) 

Next chapter: Harry figures out some of what's going on, gets a job, and generally lives through a rather dull year. 


	2. Chapter 2: Without Beliefs

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, I do, however, own the librarian and her friend.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 2: Without Beliefs 

And so you see I have come to doubt  
All that I once held as true;  
I stand alone without beliefs,  
The only truth I know is you. 

– "Kathy's Song," Simon & Garfunkel 

The bell above the door to the shop rang, indicating that someone had walked through the door. From where he sat behind the counter, Harry watched as a woman and her son wandered over to look at the young adult books. 

When Harry had first taken Mrs. Whelton's offer to stay the night, he really had meant to only stay just that one night. However, when the next morning had come, he had found himself reluctant to try phoning Hermione a second time, remembering the diploma that had been in his suitcase. He recalled something Hermione had once said about a Muggle Chinese philosopher. The philosopher had had a dream in which he was a butterfly. Upon awakening, he was reported as having said something along the lines of "How do I know I am a man who dreamt I was a butterfly? It may be that I am actually a butterfly dreaming that I am a man." 

In the morning, Harry felt like the philosopher to a certain extent. How could he be sure that he wasn't actually Harry Evans, and not Harry Potter? The Dursleys had obviously not known about him being a wizard, and he had awakened on his birthday in the cupboard under the stairs. The only reason he had ever been moved out of that cupboard was that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been worried about what the wizards might do to them if they continued to mistreat Harry when it became obvious from the Hogwarts letters that the wizarding world had not forgotten him. What if those letters had never come? Harry would have never been moved into Dudley's second bedroom, instead remaining in the cupboard. And he would have attended Stonewall High. 

How did he know that he hadn't dreamed all of it up? Witches, wizards, Hogwarts and all, even the scar on his forehead. When there was no way to prove that magic existed other than your own memories, it was very hard to believe in it. It was, however, quite easy to believe that he really was suffering from some sort of amnesia, as Alice the librarian had suggested. Maybe he'd had a traumatic experience at Stonewall, and he'd ended up blocking out all seven years of it, then replacing it with memories he'd manufactured for himself. Fantastical memories about magic and wizards, dark lords and scars shaped like lightening bolts. In fact, the only proof he had that any of those memories could possibly be real was the fact that when he'd called the phone number he knew to be Hermione's, he'd gotten her house. 

But there were even ways to explain that away... Hermione could have actually been someone from his school – only it would have been Stonewall instead of Hogwarts. Harry had no idea of where she lived, there were hundreds of houses in the suburbs that included Pivet Drive, and Hermione could live in any one of them, and could have attended Stonewall as well. And she wouldn't have known who he was, because he'd said that his last name was Potter, not Evans. 

So instead of calling Hermione on August first, Harry packed up his suitcase, allowed Mrs. Whelton to feed him breakfast, and then trundled off to the local court house in order to do some research. There Harry learned that Harold J. Evans was the only child of Lily Evans, who had been a single mother struggling with a career as a journalist when she'd been killed in an auto wreak. Her son was sent to live with his only remaining family, Vernon and Petunia Dursley. 

There was no record of there ever having been a Harold J. Potter. Or even a simple Harry Potter. 

And so, according to the records, Harry was just your normal, average teenage Muggle male. The only thing was Harry wasn't prepared to operate on his own in the Muggle world. He didn't know what they might teach in Muggle senior schools. He was guessing the same sort of things that he remembered from primary school – math, literature, English, history, maybe some science. He couldn't go to college, that was one thing he was sure about – for one thing, he didn't have any vault of gold left to him by his parents. 

Parent. Lily Evans had been a single mother. 

In the end, Harry had found himself coming back to Mrs. Whelton's book shop at the end of the day, and asking her whether he might be able to have a job there. She had smiled at him happily and said that of course he could, for she was rather fond of Harry – he reminded her of the children she'd never had – and she really did need a helper in the store. He'd been installed in the bedroom in which he had spent the night before, and soon she was teaching him how to run the cash register, among other skills that were required to run a used book store. 

So here he was now, behind the counter and managing the till almost five months later. Part of his pay he never saw, since Mrs. Whelton took room and board out of it. That which he did see he used to buy new clothes, and the occasional fiction book. He had a library card, and he sometimes checked books out and visited with Alice. He had pretty much come to terms with the idea that he had created seven years of his life from scratch. If one of the customers in the shop were to ask him whether he believed magic was real, he would have shaken his head and calmly replied "No". Even though he was not exactly happy, he was content, and that was enough for him at the moment. 

Watching the woman and her son from the corner of his eye, Harry leaned back in his seat, reading the book in his lap. It claimed to be a history of werewolves, and was actually quite well written, but rarely agreed with what his make believe "memories" told him. He remembered asking Remus Lupin one time during his sixth year about the subject since they hadn't covered it in detail in third, and had gone away with an earful. The book itself was one that Mrs. Whelton had acquired from an estate sale only a few weeks before, and she counted it among her very rare books. Because of this, it was kept on display below the glass countertop, and was very handy when Harry wanted something to read. 

The woman was coming towards the counter with a books in hand, her son, somewhere between ten and twelve, following behind her. Harry set the werewolf book back on its stand beneath the counter, and smiled at her. She set down a copy of 'The Last Unicorn' as well as one of 'The Hobbit', and looked at Harry nervously, "You don't think that these will be too advanced for him, do you?" she nodded to her son, who was rolling his eyes at her. "I remember reading and loving them when I was a girl, but I can't remember how old I was at the time." 

"Oh, I think he should do fine. You might want to re-read them yourself while you're at it, I'm told that a lot of the concepts become clearer when you read them as an adult." 

She nodded, then set down another book, this one a copy of 'The Mists of Avalon'. He raised an eyebrow at that, and was about to say something when she held up her hands, smiling, "I know! Don't worry, it's for me, not for him. I have a friend who's reading it, and I'm tired of reading over her shoulder. I keep on missing large parts of the story." 

"Good, glad to hear that. I don't think he would last through it, anyway." Harry gave a the mother a wink, knowing that he'd just guaranteed for her that her son would try to read it. He smiled to himself, and rang up the books after glancing at their inside covers for the price. She handed over her money, picked up her books, and left. As the door of the shop closed behind her, Harry pulled out the werewolf book again. 

---

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" Mrs. Whelton called happily as she poked her head into Harry's room. Harry groaned and turned over, pulling the pillow over his head. Mrs. Whelton, however, was not going to be put off that easily. She bounced over to the bed and pulled the pillow off of Harry's head. He glared at her. 

"It is my belief that no one should be that bouncy in the morning," he stated, and made a grab for his pillow. He was unsuccessful. 

"Oh, but it's _Christmas_, Harry! Can't you just feel the excitement building up in you?" She danced around the room in circles with his pillow. 

"You're not going to leave me alone until I get up, are you?" 

"Nope! Come on, they're going to read Dickens' 'A Christmas Carol' aloud over at the library. They do it every year, and if you get there early enough, they sometimes let you pick out a character to read." She and his pillow danced out of the room. 

Deciding that there was little chance he would get back to sleep now, Harry threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed, shoving his feet into his slippers. He felt around on the night stand for a moment, searching for his glasses, put them on, and groggily made his way out into the hall, and finally to the kitchen. 

Apparently Mrs. Whelton had been up for some time before she'd decided it was time to wake him, since there was already a big stack of pancakes sitting on the table, and she was currently finishing up frying some bacon. Harry walked over and carefully took the fork from her hand, "I can do that, you go enjoy one of those delicious looking cakes, okay?" 

Clasping her hands together in front of her chest, Mrs. Whelton attempted to look starry-eyed. "Finally – a man who can cook! My prayers have been answered! My dreams have come true! At long last–" Harry was quite sure that she would have continued if he'd allowed her to. Instead, he threatened to poke her with the fork, and she eeped and grabbed a plate from the cupboard as well as some cutlery. "Oh, you're no fun anymore," she pouted as she slid into the breakfast nook and pulled a pancake onto her plate. 

"I still let you pun, so you're in no position to complain," Harry said genially as he slid the bacon out of the pan and onto a plate. Turning off the burner, Harry grabbed a plate for himself, and went over to sit across from Mrs. Whelton in the nook. 

Christmas morning passed in a happy sort of lull. Mrs. Whelton and Harry eventually got dressed and went over to the library, where Mrs. Whelton was typecast as Mrs. Cratchet. Harry managed to evade Alice's efforts to get him to read a part as well, and ended up sitting back with his eyes closed and letting the words flow around him. When the book was finally finished, Mrs. Whelton gathered up Harry and Alice, and they headed back to the flat for Christmas dinner. 

As they scrunched together in the nook, happily finishing off the apple pie that Mrs. Whelton had produced from the oven, Alice turned to Harry with a strange look in her eye. "Harry, I've been meaning to ask you – did you ever manage to set things right with that friend of yours? You know, the one you called from the library during the summer." 

Harry froze for a moment, then shook his head as he licked the sticky off his fork. "No... I don't think we're really friends anymore. I... well, too much has happened since school." He took a sip of his hot cocoa. 

Leaning back against the kitchen wall with a mug of coffee in her hand, Mrs. Whelton gave Harry a forlorn look, "You two broke up didn't you, dear? Oh, it must have been very hard for you... just out of school, all on your own, and your girlfriend breaks up with you." 

Nearly choking on his cocoa, Harry gasped, "Hermione?! My girlfriend? Don't tell me you've actually thought for five months that–" he broke off as he saw both Mrs. Whelton and Alice's faces. "Oh. You did. Um, sorry. No, Hermione and I never dated. That would be like... I don't know, incest. We were really close," he said quietly, looking down into his mug, "Ron, Hermione, and me. Like siblings, only with less rivalry." 

A hand came into his view, and he looked up to see Alice staring at him. "Can you tell us what happened?" She suddenly became flustered, and looked away, "That is, if you want to talk about it." 

"I guess... when you don't see people every day, you sort of forget them. I guess that's what happened with the three of us. Sometimes..." Harry searched for the right words to say, "sometimes it seems like I made it all up in my head and it never really happened." He'd never talked to either woman about his amnesia. Well, he'd told Alice that one time, but she probably didn't even remember it anymore. /Were we ever really friends,/ he wondered, not for the first time, /if I'm the only one who remembers it? Or if I just made it up so that I wouldn't be alone any more?/ 

"Well!" Mrs. Whelton set her coffee mug down on the counter and clapped her hands together, "It's that time, people! Presents!" Hitching up her skirt, she ran out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, making a sort of gleeful maniacal chuckle as she went. 

Turning to look at Alice, Harry made his eyes large and mournful, "Has she always been like this?" 

"Every holiday that I can remember, and I've known her since I was six," Alice confided. "She and her husband were friends of my parents." She scooted out of the nook, and held out a hand to Harry. He took it, and allowed himself to be drawn up from the table, and into the sitting room, where brightly wrapped packages lay under a small tree. 

Mrs. Whelton was sitting on the long couch and had a Santa hat stuck on her head, in her lap she held a box with red and white stripes on it. She held it up to Harry. "Happy Christmas, dear." 

"Thank you," said Harry, smiling. It wasn't the same as the Christmases at Hogwarts or the one Christmas at 12 Grimmauld Place that he "remembered", and probably nothing would be ever like that, but it was still special in its own way. 

---

"You know, if you would just stop buying more books, I wouldn't have to build you new shelves, Mrs. Whelton," Harry commented as he put in the last screw that would hold up the shelf that would across the front of the shop, above the windows. "Last time I checked, the whole point of owning a book store was to sell books, not buy them." 

"See, your problem, Harry, is that you don't understand why I opened a used book shop in the first place. I really like to read books, so I buy a lot of them. Unfortunately, I've never had enough shelf space. Thus, voilá – book shop. I get shelf space, and I have a way to get rid of my books once I'm tired of them," Mrs. Whelton explained, ticking points off on her fingers. 

"Ah, so you're a compulsive reader." 

"Damn straight!" 

He stared at her for a moment, then rolled his eyes, "You know, I was under the impression that little old ladies were supposed to act elderly." 

"Hell, man, I'm not old – I'm not even eighty yet!" 

"'Yet' being the operative word in that sentence." Climbing down the ladder, Harry stepped back to look at the shelf he'd just installed. It was very simple, but also sturdy enough to hold the thick volumes that Mrs. Whelton wanted to put there. Stretching his arms and back, he leaned against one of the stand-alone bookshelves for a bit, then pushed off and headed towards the back and the storeroom. Before he made it to the door, Mrs. Whelton had stepped in front of him, blocking his way. 

"And just where do you think you're going, hm?" 

"Um. To get the books that are supposed to go up there," here he pointed to the new shelf, "so that I can shelve them and make more room in the storeroom so that you'll be able to buy more books." 

"You will absolutely no such thing. It's a beautiful spring Sunday, so we're going to go out, find a pleasant outdoor café, and have a nice little chat." 

/Uh oh. Why did I get a shiver down my spine when she said the word "chat"?/ "Why?" Harry asked plaintively. 

"Partly because I feel like it, but mostly because you look like you need to talk," she said softly, rest a hand on his arm. Harry conceded to that. He did need to talk to someone about this amnesia thing, but he wasn't sure whether he should. /Part of me really wants to,/ he admitted to himself, /but at the same time I feel the same way I did in second year, when I was "hearing voices in the walls". I don't want Mrs. Whelton to think I'm... unbalanced./ 

He relaxed under her touch, and allowed her to lead him out the door, "All right then, but you're paying for lunch, since it was your idea in the first place." She agreed, and they walked out of the store, locking the door behind them, and down the street. 

By the time that they finally arrived at the café that Mrs. Whelton had had in mind, Harry was beginning to truly dread the "chat" that he knew was coming. After pulling out a chair for the old woman, he sat down across from her and proceeded to examine his hands in great detail. "So, tell me, dear, what is it that's bothering you?" 

Running his fingers through his bangs, Harry sighed, "I... well. See, the thing is..." He really didn't know how to go about this. /"Well, Mrs. Whelton, I was told when I turned eleven years old that I was a wizard. I spent the next seven years attending a school of witchcraft and wizardry and defeating the same dark lord year after year. Only it seems that none of that was true, and I made it all up. Oh, and I can't remember any part of my years in senior school."/ Yeah, like that would go down well. He'd probably get fired, and with that lose a place to live. Luckily, Mrs. Whelton decided to take matters into her own hands. 

"It's about your friends from school, isn't it? What were their names again..." 

"Ron and Hermione." 

"Right, Ron and Hermione. You said at Christmas that the three of you were as close as siblings, but I've never seen you call or write to either one of them. Did you all have some sort of fight right before you graduated?" 

"I... I don't know. I can't remember most of last June or any of last July, so I guess we might have. But at the same time, I don't think it's that. I think it's something much more complicated." /Do you know how hard it is to have friendships with people you've created in your head?/ One of the science fiction books he'd found in the store had something like that, except in the book the main character had managed to fall in love with one of the people he'd created out of lonliness with his mind... 

Mrs. Whelton was studying him. "You don't remember June or July? That's strange. Selective amnesia? Maybe you got hit on the head? Or you could have been in a coma!" Her eyes were bright with excitement. Once again, Harry remembered that Mrs. Whelton read way too many books and was rather fond of romanticizing things. 

"Something tells me that it probably wasn't a coma, Mrs. Whelton, so you can get that starry look out of your eyes. If it had been a coma, my aunt and uncle would have complained and blamed it on me." 

She frowned. "For some reason I get the distinct feeling that I would not like your relatives." 

"Oh, I'm sure that the feeling would be mutual. They'd probably find you too... excitable, I guess." He grinned charmingly at her, inwardly congratulating himself on having steered her to onto a safer topic. He really didn't want to even think about either Ron or Hermione... it made him uncomfortable. 

---

Hearing the bells that indicated when someone walked into the shop jingle, Harry looked down from where he was perched at the top of the rolling ladder, and saw the back of a head of silver streaked hair. He watched for a moment as the potential customer wandered over to the first set of bookshelves, and started looking at the titles, then turned his attention back to the books he was shelving. Mrs. Whelton was out for the day, shopping and running other errands, so he was all by himself in the shop. When a voice spoke from behind him, he almost fell off the ladder, he had so completely forgotten the other person's presence in the store. "Excuse me?" 

"Yes sir, how may I help you?" 

"I'd like to get a look at one of the books under the counter, if I may. Someone told me that you had first edition of 'History of a Pack' – I've been looking for a copy for ages," the man admitted with a soft chuckle. 

"Oh, you don't want that, it's horribly inaccurate," Harry told the man, before he could stop himself. He then proceeded to softly curse himself under his breath. 'History of a Pack' was the treatise on werewolves. Of course it was inaccurate, it was about mythical creatures. /Remember, Harry old boy, werewolves are _fictional_. Not fact. If you keep on thinking of things like that as fact, you're going to get some very strange looks./ 

"Is that so? I had the impression that most people believed werewolves to be imaginary. Originating from the tendency of humans to believe that there are people capable of turning into the most fearsome animal in the area..." 

"Exactly. It talks about werewolves as if they were actual creatures, which is, of course, absolute nonsense," Harry replied as he descended the ladder, hoping to cover up his mistake. He let go of the ladder as he reached the ground, and turned around to face the customer, about to speak again. His question died on his lips as he stared at the other man. 

"James...?" an equally shocked Remus Lupin asked in a quavery voice. 

---

Right, so I figure that if other people get to make references to music and/or TV shows that I've never heard of, then I get to make book references, dagnabit! Nyah : P 

Next chapter: Harry visits old friends; Lupin explains the Plot Concept. 


	3. Chapter 3: Can't Return

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, however I do own the librarian and her friend.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 3: Can't Return 

And the seasons they go round and round  
And the painted ponies go up and down  
We're captive on the carousel of time  
We can't return, we can only look behind  
From where we came  
And go round and round and round  
In the circle game 

– "The Circle Game," Joni Mitchell 

"Professor Lupin? What are you doing here?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. /Idiot. He doesn't know who you are, you've never met, and that's probably not even his name,/ he silently chastised himself. 

"James? But – you're dead!" Lupin moved forward, studying Harry's face. "No, not James. Your eyes are different... And you're shorter and younger–" he stopped as he finally managed to process what Harry had said. "You know me? Were you one of my students? I'm sorry, but I can't say that I remember you – which is strange, considering that you look very similar to one of my old school friends." 

Harry tried to step backwards and away from the older man, but instead only managed to walk into the ladder that he had forgotten about. "I... I don't know. I really don't – I think I might have amnesia..." Maybe all of the people that he'd "created" actually existed somewhere; both Hermione and Professor Lupin did. But it was so confusing... Harry decided it would be better to to stick to something he was sure about. "You said you were interested in 'History of a Pack'? I'll go get it out for you." He edged past the other man, and quickly slipped behind the counter, where he pulled out the book in question and set it on the counter. 

"You _think_ you might have amnesia? How can you think you might have amnesia?" Lupin asked curiously as he walked over to the counter and began inspecting the book. "Wouldn't your friends and family tell you if you obviously didn't remember something?" 

Thinking of Mrs. Whelton, Alice, and the Dursleys, Harry shook his head. "See, um, my friends didn't know me before, and my only family isn't very fond of me. They'd probably think it was a glorious joke totally at my own expense, and never tell me." Inside his heart was sinking; it was one thing to talk to Hermione on the phone and not have her recognize him, but quite another to be talking to someone from his "memories" face-to-face and not be recalled. 

"Your friends didn't know you 'before'? Whatever do you mean?" 

"I – it's kind of strange, the people that I remember as my friends from school don't remember me even though I remember them. I, um, woke up on my last birthday with two months of my life missing, and I don't really remember any part of senior school. Well, at least I don't think I do." /Why am I telling him all of this? He's just another customer, not someone I know. He probably thinks I'm bonkers./ But at the same time, Harry felt the familiar overwhelming need to tell someone. /Well, if nothing else, if I tell him I won't have to worry about getting fired or loosing a friend. I might not sell the book, but for all I know he wouldn't have bought it anyway./ 

A glance upwards and a small smile. "Sounds like you have a pretty complicated life. Your relatives are messed up; you think you might have amnesia, only it's your friends who don't remember you instead of you having forgotten them; you don't remember school, but you're not sure about that either." 

"Yeah, it seems that the seven years of school I remember are not the ones that everyone else remembers. And I can't remember the ones that I'm supposed to," Harry said softly, looking to the side. 

"If you don't mind my asking," Lupin said, closing the book and pushing it to the side, "what do you remember?" 

"Well, I guess I should start at the beginning. My name is Harry Po– um, Evans. It really started with my eleventh birthday, when I recieved my letter for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." he started steadily, and slowly made his way from there. He looked everywhere except at Lupin, and after a time he had to sit down in the chair behind the counter because his feet were killing him. It was then that he awoke from his daze long enough to look out a window and notice that it was dark outside. He stopped and looked up at the clock, then at Lupin, who was still standing there. 

"Sir, I'm so sorry. I must have been rambling on for hours... It's past store hours, I need to be closing up. Would you like to purchase this book? If not, I need to put it away." 

Confused by the sudden change in topics, Lupin blinked, stepped back from the counter and shook his head. "I think I will have to come back for the book, Mr. Evans. I don't seem to have enough money on me today... and I wouldn't really mind finding out how you managed to escape that bloody basilisk," he smiled and held out his hand to Harry. "It has been a pleasure talking to you." He waved, and went out the door of the darkened shop, letting the door close shut behind him with a jingle. 

Waving half-heartedly to the other man, Harry reached out and put the werewolf book away, then went about locking up the store and flipping the sign over to 'Closed'. /Huh. At least he was a polite sort of "scared off". I think he was trying to humor me at the end, "I wouldn't mind finding out how you managed to escape that basilisk" indeed. The man thinks I'm mental./ Harry leaned his head against the door to the back room and sighed, /Not that he doesn't have every right to. Hell, even I think I'm mental./ He turned the knob on the door, and went into the back room and up the stairs. It had been a stupid idea anyway, telling someone else about the world he'd made up for himself. 

---

It was early Saturday morning and Harry was trying to figure out what sort of filing system Mrs. Whelton was using in the storeroom this time, when he thought he heard someone say his name in the front room. Cracking the door open and poking his nose out, he couldn't see anything, but he now he was able to make out the conversation that was occurring. 

Mrs. Whelton was apparently speaking to a customer. "Oh– you want Harry. He's working in the back room right now, I believe. He should be out in a few minutes." Someone asking about him? Who? He shrugged, deciding that it didn't matter. For all he knew it was someone he didn't remember from Stonewall High. Since it was obvious that he wasn't going to be able to interpret Mrs. Whelton's current filing system any time soon, Harry decided to go and find out who the mysterious customer was. 

He stepped out into the store, pulling the door shut softly behind him, and made his way between the shelves until he came up to the counter. Mrs. Whelton turned as he walked up, smiling at him. "See, here he is now. Harry, dear, this man is trying to find a book about mythical creatures from the mideast – maybe you could help him? I know that you read all the myth books that we get in." 

Harry turned to look at the customer, and was surprised to see that it was, once again, Professor Lupin. He blinked several times, then recovered himself and turned towards the back of the store. "If you'll just follow me, sir. I believe we have something along those lines in the back room. I'll just have to go get it." /Why is he back? I thought I scared him off last Thursday with my ramble about magic and Hogwarts. Maybe he's just as demented as I am./ He entered the storeroom and started looking for the book he remembered having seen the day before last. 

Hearing the sound of the door shutting behind him, Harry turned in surprise. Lupin was standing there, leaning back against the door, his arms crossed across his chest. For the first time, he spoke. "So, how did you manage to escape the basilisk in the Chamber, Mr. Evans?" he said evenly, his pale brown eyes glowing gold in the light of the storeroom. "I wonder... was there a phoenix?" 

Harry jerked backwards, stumbling against the box he'd been looking in. "How did you...? Yes. Professor Dumbledore's phoenix came with the Sorting Hat. I... it managed to blind the basilisk, so I didn't have to worry about being petrified or killed by the basilisk's gaze. I killed it with a sword – it was Godric Gryffindor's – that I pulled from the Sorting Hat." 

"So then it was different for you. I suppose that would be because you were in Gryffindor and you could pull out the sword," Lupin nodded absentmindedly. "Fawkes brought you the Hat instead of a sword." He watched Harry steadily, his gaze unwavering, "Mr. Evans, you are truly an amazing person. You can relate in detail events that happened up to seven years ago, though your retellings are imperfect. Events that you should know nothing about. How is it that you are able to do this?" 

"I... What do you mean? I made them up in my head; I figured that all out last August. I was so upset with what had happened to me at Stonewall High that I created memories for myself. If you believe them, you're even crazier than I am. Magic does not exist, wizards do not exist, Hogwarts does not exist. Hell, why stop there? Harry Potter does not exist. And, on the plus side, neither does Voldemort." 

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Evans. Voldemort is quite alive and well. He has been for slightly over four years, ever since he was successfully resurrected." Lupin ran his hand through his hair, "Christ, it seems so hard to believe... the adventures you describe are almost exactly like... Maybe if we had both of you, we'd be able to defeat him at last. Tell me, how would you like to see Hogwarts for yourself?" 

/He's nuts,/ Harry thought, even as he heard himself tell Lupin yes. /Bonkers, mad. Out of his mind./ He was talking to Mrs. Whelton, explaining that he would have to take the rest of the day off, and might not be back until late Sunday evening. /Hell, I must be nuts, agreeing to something like this./ The next thing he knew, he was standing out in front of the book store with Remus Lupin, excited despite what his head told him. "Professor –" 

"Just a moment, I need to get my dog." Lupin was kneeling next to a large black dog, who was loosely tied to a street sign. "Mr. Evans, this is my dog–" 

"Sirius," Harry said somewhat brokenly, his voice cracking as he looked down at the dog. When he looked up at Lupin again, he noted that the man was staring at him. He gave the older man a wavery smile. "That's right, you never let me get to third year. Tell me, is he still wanted by the Ministry, or did he manage to get his name cleared?" 

"What–?" 

"Third year, 1993 through '94. Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban; Professor Remus J. Lupin teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts; I get the Marauder's Map; Pettigrew – Wormtail – turns up alive; he later escapes," Harry ticked the points off on his hand. He smiled at Lupin, "So, how are we going to get to Hogwarts?" /It's all a dream. It has to be. Oh well, I might as well enjoy it until I wake up. Sirius.../ 

"Hogsmeade Express." 

"All right then." 

---

Half-past ten, the three of them arrived at King's Cross Station. To Harry's surprise, they had taken the underground to get there, and strangely enough no one said anything about Sirius, who remained a dog the entire trip. He finally decided that it must be because the whole thing was obviously a dream. They approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, and Lupin gestured to Harry. "After you." 

Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself, getting ready to run at the barrier. Even after seven years, he'd never quite gotten used to entering platform nine and three-quarters. He turned his head to the side as he ran, which turned out to be a good thing when he hit the barrier and fell to the ground, his body aching. "Ow..." /I thought you were supposed to wake up before you got hurt in your dreams...?/ 

Lupin walked over and scratched his chin. "That's funny. I wonder why it didn't let you in... Snuffles, try the barrier, see if you can get through." The dog gave a loud bark, his tongue lolling out to the side, and he loped towards the barrier. He leaped over Harry and passed right through the wall. "Seems to be working fine." 

"It didn't let me in," Harry said slowly as he sat up and rubbed the side of his face, "because I'm a Muggle. Hermione once said that her parents could never make it onto the platform either." 

"Hm. I guess we'll have to try to get to Hogwarts some other way, then. Wait here while I go get Snuffles and tell him about the change of plans." Harry watched as Lupin ran through the barrier. It didn't make any sense. If this was a dream, why hadn't he been allowed through? Dreams shouldn't pay attention to silly rules like keeping Muggles off of platform nine and three-quarters. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, waiting for Lupin and Sirius to come back through. 

A few minutes later, Sirius came back through, barking loudly when he saw Harry, then padding over and sat down next to him. Harry offered a hand, which Sirius sniffed a few times, then licked enthusiastically. Laughing, Harry wiped his hand on his jeans. He felt like he was fourteen again, and visiting Sirius in Hogsmeade. Scratching Sirius' head, Harry gazed at the intelligent blue eyes, simply enjoying the fact that Sirius was sitting next to him. "You're still wanted, aren't you? That's why you're a dog right now," he murmured, answering his earlier question for himself. "And why Professor Lupin calls you 'Snuffles'." 

"Correct," Lupin said from where he stood right next to the barrier. He had apparently come through while Harry had been distracted by Sirius. "I'm not going to ask you how you know what he is. I still can't figure out how you know everything else. Come on, we need to find a good street." He set off for the exit, and Harry had to hurry to keep pace with him. 

"What's the new plan?" he asked when he finally caught up, a bit breathless. 

"Knight Bus. If I flag it down, you can get on as well. They won't be able to tell that you're a Muggle, and they'll let Snuffles on as well." Lupin skidded to a stop in on a small, deserted street. Standing close to the curb, he held out his right hand. 

There was a loud bang as the brilliant violet bus appeared and came to a stop. The three of them followed the conductor and boarded the bus, where Harry and Lupin sat down on opposing beds, after Lupin had passed a handful of sickles to the attendant. 

---

"You know," Lupin commented as they disembarked from the Knight Bus at the gates of Hogwarts, "for someone who was insisting earlier that magic and wizards don't exist, you're taking all of this very well." 

Harry shrugged, "I figure it's all a dream. Any time now I'll wake up and find myself in my bed at Mrs. Whelton's flat." He strolled up the path to the castle, Sirius running along beside him. "It's not like any of this is real, after all," he added as an afterthought. Arriving at the castle entrance, he stopped and turned, waiting for Lupin. 

"So, Remus, is this the young man you owled about? I–" Professor McGonagall's voice stopped as soon as she got a good look at Harry. "My goodness. You..." She trailed off, turning to give Lupin, who had just strode up, a strange look. She then shook her head and recomposed herself. "You'll want to see Albus, of course," said McGonagall as she lead them through the corridors of the castle, until they reached the gargoyle that stood in front of the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Grioten." The gargoyle moved to the side at this. "Well then, go on up. You too, Snuffles." 

They stepped onto the stairs, and waited as the staircase spiraled upwards towards an oak door. When they reached the door, it opened before them. Albus Dumbledore stood there, framed in the doorway. Blue eyes twinkling he stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. Harry did so somewhat nervously. Up until this point it had been quite easy to believe himself in a dream, but the Headmaster had such... _presence_ it was very hard to believe that any more. Lupin sat down on a small couch as Sirius proceeded to transform out of his animagus form. He joined Lupin on the couch, leaving Harry to sit alone in an armchair with Dumbledore opposite. 

Dumbledore smiled at him. "So, Remus said that you are Harry Evans?" 

"Yes, sir. Harold James Evans." He looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. "I... grew up with my aunt and uncle. My mother died when I was a little over a year old, and I can't say for sure that I know who my father was." 

"Can't say for sure? Do you have any suspicions of who he might have been?" Dumbledore asked intently. 

"...yes." Harry kept his eyes on his hands. His mind had been working quickly ever since they'd entered Dumbledore's office, and he'd managed to come up with a new theory as to what had happened in his life. "I think he may have been James Potter." 

"What?!" 

"But James never had any children–" 

Both Lupin and Sirius had started forward, and begun talking very quickly. They quieted down, however, when Dumbledore held up his hand. "I think it would be best for you to explain yourself, Harry," he said kindly, still smiling. "Why don't you start with the first year you remember attending this school." 

It took several hours for Harry to get through all seven years of Hogwarts, even though he left out many things that he believed were not essential to understanding what had happened. Glancing at Sirius as he reached the end of his telling of his fifth year, and decided to leave out those facts that might upset the three wizards. He was allowed to speak for the most part without being interrupted, though at times one of the three other men would stop him and ask him to explain what he had just said in greater detail. At one point a house elf showed up with sandwiches and tea, which he ate and drank between words. When he at last finished, it was early Sunday morning, and his throat felt hoarse and sore. Blinking tiredly, he yawned hugely, then slumped over in the chair, falling asleep almost instantly. 

---

Harry was awakened by the soft drone of hushed voices. Opening his eyes slightly, he noticed muzzily that someone – most likely Dumbledore – had tucked a blanket around him. Shaking his head slightly in order to clear it a bit more, he finally registered what was being said. 

"It's so similar to what actually happened, it's almost disturbing." /That's Sirius,/ Harry decided, still reveling in the fact that his godfather was alive and well, /he must be talking with the others about what I told them./ 

"Have you noticed, Sirius, that all the changes to it are rather logical when you take into account that everything happened to different person?" /Dumbledore,/ Harry identified as he became more interested in the conversation. /So now it's Lupin's turn./ 

"James having a child... But it does fit. If we look at when Harry's birthday is, and take into account the gestation period, it is possible that he was conceived before James faced down Voldemort," Lupin said softly. At this, Harry jerked and sat up straight, glancing from face to face. 

"My dad faced down Voldemort? How–" 

"He didn't survive," Dumbledore said sadly. "James Potter knew that Voldemort was after him, and went into hiding, using the Fidelius Charm. He was betrayed by Pettigrew, just as you related, Harry. However, there the similarities end, to a certain extent. James and Voldemort used the Killing Curse on each other at the same moment. It killed James, and for several years many witches and wizards believed that it had killed Voldemort as well. James Potter has been hailed as a hero, though he didn't live long enough to find out to." 

"He never married," said Sirius, "though he was a bit distant in the years right before his death. I guess he could have been involved with a Muggle, and we never knew it. He knew how dangerous his life was... He probably didn't marry your mother, Harry, because he knew that she wouldn't be able to defend herself if need be." He smiled tiredly, "Lily Evans must have been his 'dark little secret'." 

"So then... my mum was a Muggle." 

Dumbledore nodded, "There are no records of a Lily Evans ever having attended Hogwarts, nor of either Harry Potter or Harry Evans. It would appear that you are half-blood, Harry, with no magic." 

Harry thought this over, and nodded slowly. It was pretty much the same conclusion he had come to the day before. Only one thing still didn't fit... "But then, why do I remember all of these things? You were saying that many of the things I remember actually did happen, if only a bit differently. If I'm a Muggle, how do I remember these things at all?" 

Lupin raised a tentative hand, "Well, I think I might have a bit of a theory for that, Harry." Both Sirius and Dumbledore looked at the werewolf in surprise, and Harry absentmindedly noted that he was no longer "Mr. Evans" to Lupin, but instead "Harry". "Have you ever read any Muggle science fiction, by any chance? In particular ones involving alternate dimensions, or parallel universes? It's easier to understand if you have." 

"A few books. Mrs. Whelton has them in her store, and she recommended some of them to me," Harry admitted. 

"Well, it seems to me that everything that you remember did indeed happen. You say that the last thing you remember is hitting Voldemort with the Killing Curse. Could it be that, in using on him the same curse that he used on you years earlier, you could have created some kind of magical backlash? One that could have knocked you into an parallel world in which your mother was not born a witch, but rather a regular Muggle – that is to say, this world?" 

Nodding thoughtfully, Dumbledore stroked his beard, "That could very well be possible, Remus, were it not for one thing – Harry has found evidence of having existed in this world for his entire life, not just the past year." 

Professor Lupin grinned, "Ah, but what if it wasn't his body that came here? What if it was just his soul? Wouldn't his soul immediately seek out a familiar vessel, and possibly end up being dominant over the soul already existing in the body of Harry Evans? This Harry – Harry Potter – has been through much more than Harry Evans ever has, he may be the stronger soul of the two, and he might have been able to easily misplace the native soul." 

"Oh. That's a bit... weird," Harry said, his head spinning. "So then, what you're saying is that I'm Harry Potter inside of Harry Evans' body? But... whatever happened to Evans' soul? Is it still inside me, or is it – elsewhere?" 

"Hm, it would seem to me that there are three possible answers to that question," Dumbledore said, apparently having caught on to what Lupin was saying. "Evans may have remained within the body, having gone dormant for the time being, or he may have been evicted from the body entirely. If the second is true, he could have either dissipated, or he could have gone into a different host. It may even be possible that he went into the body that you left behind, in your own world. Souls are tricky things, you can never predict just what they may do." 

Shaking his head, Sirius leaned against Lupin on the couch. "I don't know, Remus. It all sounds pretty far fetched to me. Souls from other worlds? It's like something out of a fairy tale," he paused and thought for a moment, "or one of Sibyll Trelawney's crazier predictions." 

"But some of Professor Trelawney's predictions do come true," Harry said softly, and everyone turned to look at him. "I didn't mention it before, because I hadn't thought it important, but she predicted Wormtail's escape, and Voldemort's return. She went all funny, and spoke in a deep voice. I told Professor Dumbledore about it later on, and he said that that brought her number of real predictions up to two... Though I can't think of what her first one would have been here in your world..." He turned a questioning look to Dumbledore. 

True to his nature, Dumbledore smiled brightly, but didn't say a word about Professor Trelawney or her predictions. "I think," he said, pulling a large pocket watch out of his robes and giving it a quick glance, "that it is time for Harry here to return home. I have been told that there are people expecting him, and if he doesn't return soon, they may become rather distressed." 

Realizing this to be a subtle hint that he was to return to Mrs. Whelton's store and flat, Harry felt vaguely disappointed, though he didn't know why. /I'm not a part of this world anymore,/ he reminded himself. /I should just be grateful that now I know what happened in my life, and I don't have to worry about my sanity anymore./ Plastering a smile on his face, Harry rose from the armchair, and headed for the door. It had been nice to believe, even for a short time, that he was again a part of everything he remembered. 

---

...grioten is an actual candy. It's really yummy : ) 

Next chapter: Harry returns to Mrs. Whelton's building; Alice takes Harry to a museum; Harry turns nineteen. 


	4. Chapter 4: Enough Time

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, however I do own the librarian and her friend.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 4: Enough Time 

But there never seems to be enough time  
To do the things you want to do  
Once you find them 

– "Time In A Bottle," Jim Croce 

Pulling out his key, Harry opened the back door of Mrs. Whelton's building and stepped inside. It had been a bumpy ride back – Lupin had flagged down the Knight Bus for him a second time, paid his fare, and sent him off on his merry way – and he'd had a lot of time to think. He'd mostly thought about what Lupin and Dumbledore had said, about souls and alternate worlds. /I'll probably never make it back to where I came from,/ Harry thought sadly. Strangely enough, it was the people that he missed the most, not the power or the excitement of magic that came with being a wizard. /I won't ever have Ron and Hermione to talk to again... And while it's cool that he's alive, I won't have Sirius as a godfather... And–/ Harry quickly cut off that thought before it could go any farther, not wanting to acknowledge it. Turning, he made his way up the stairs to the flat. 

"_There_ you are! We were beginning to worry," said Mrs. Whelton, as he stepped into the sitting room. Noticing the plural in her speech, he glanced around, and saw that Alice was there as well. 

"Oh. Um. Hello. Sorry I didn't call or anything when I was out longer than I expected," apologized Harry, flushing slightly. "I sort of fell asleep..." 

"So, did you have a good time?" Alice asked, an intense look in her eyes. 

Harry thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, actually." He started for his bedroom. 

"I don't know, Harry," Mrs. Whelton said a bit uncertainly. "I mean, he seemed like a nice enough man, but isn't he a bit old for you? Shouldn't you try dating young people around your own age first? And, I mean, really! You just met him!" 

Caught off guard, Harry whirled to stare at her. "_What?!_" 

"That nice man who came in yesterday. You can't fool me," Mrs. Whelton winked, "I saw him go into the back room with you – and I _know_ that he closed the door behind himself. And then you were so eager to leave with him after you two came out. I may not be eighty, Harry, but I sure wasn't born yesterday." 

"You thought – Professor Lupin and I – he's one of my old teachers! I mean, he's old enough to be my _dad_ – hell, he went to school with my dad! The whole idea is just – ick!" At this, Harry did a strange sort of hopping dance, the whole time chanting "ick ick ick ick." 

"Well then, if you weren't on a date," Alice said curiously, "what in the world were you doing that kept you overnight?" 

/How to explain this...?/ "I was visiting with some of my old teachers. They live pretty far away, so it took a while to get there." 

"Did you have a nice time?" asked Mrs. Whelton. 

"Yes, I think visiting with them helped me figure out some stuff about my life – you know, with the amnesia and everything. We stayed up very late just talking, so I'm exhausted. If you'll excuse me, I'd really like to take a nap before dinner..." He gave them an inquiring look, and Mrs. Whelton smiled at him and made a sketchy wave goodbye. Harry sighed in relief, and retreated down the hall to his room, where he promptly collapsed on the bed. 

/I still can't believe they thought that Lupin and I were... Ick! And besides,/ he reminded himself, /if we were, from the looks of things Sirius would kill me./ Kicking off his shoes, he lay back, and willed himself to go to sleep. 

---

"Hello, Harry. Is Mrs. Whelton in?" The bell jingled as Alice pushed the shop door open and stepped inside. 

Looking up from the book he was reading behind the counter, Harry shook his head. "Nope. She's taking a class on 'How to Use the Computer to Improve Your Business'." He closed his book – it was Wyndham's 'The Day of the Triffids' – and set in on the counter. 

"That's started already? I thought that it wasn't until next week. Oh well – I was going to ask her if she wanted to go check out the special exhibit on chocolate over at the museum, since it's Tuesday and people don't come to shop very often on Tuesdays." Alice sighed, and came over to the counter and leaned on it. 

"Ah. She's been raving about that exhibit for weeks – you could try coming tomorrow. I don't mind running the store by myself." Getting up, Harry came around the counter to stand with her. It was true, Tuesdays in the store were rather dull. Few people even so much as glanced at the window display as they walked down the street. 

"Um, I could, but I don't have tomorrow off. Hey, I know! You could come with me – it's not like you'll lose any business if you close up the shop for the day," Alice said, smiling brilliantly. 

"Oh – I've never been to a museum before," said Harry, almost reverently. The Dursleys had never taken him anywhere of their own free will, and Hogwarts had never had any school trips, not counting the Hogsmeade weekends. 

"What? Sacrilege! That's it, grab your keys, I'm taking you along, whether you like it or not." She grabbed his arm, and marched him out the door, only pausing a few moments to allow Harry to switch the sign in the window to "Closed" and turn out the lights. 

As he locked the door, Harry laughed at his friend's enthusiasm. "Okay, okay. Just don't tell Mrs. Whelton about this later. I think she was truly upset that I wasn't on a date Sunday before last, and she's trying to set me up with anyone she can think of – and I'm pretty sure that you're her next prime target." 

"Please," Alice sniffed disdainfully, "you're more like a little brother than a potential boyfriend. I think I prefer you as a friend. Though... Harry aren't you the least bit interested in dating? I'm only a few years older than you, and I'm still a raging pot of hormones." She studied him thoughtfully. 

"It's not that I'm not interested," Harry said slowly, "it's more that I don't really want to inflict myself on anyone. I've got a whole bunch of personal issues that I need to work out before I'll be ready to get involved with anyone." 

"Ah, the whole amnesia thing, huh?" Nodding to herself contentedly, Alice continued, "That's very responsible of you, Harry. You always surprise me by how grown up you are for your age." They walked on towards the underground in silence for a time, when Alice suddenly said, "Hey, it's halfway through July. Two more weeks and it'll be your birthday, Harry. And a year since I first met you. Harry? You okay?" 

A bit shocked by the realization, Harry had come to a complete stop. /A whole year... a year since I last talked to Hermione, and even longer since I last saw either her or Ron./ He broke out of his daze and put a foot forward and started walking again. "Yes, I'm fine. I'd just... forgotten that it was so soon, that's all." 

---

"There, now blow out your candles and make a wish," Mrs. Whelton pushed the chocolate cake towards Harry, smiling brightly at him. Taking a deep breath, Harry blew out the candles, smirking as they all went out on the first try. Hermione had once told him about trick candles, and he'd been afraid that Mrs. Whelton's quirky sense of humor might have caused her to buy some. "What did you wish for, dear?" she asked him eagerly. 

"Silly, he's not supposed to tell you," Alice thwapped the older woman lightly on top of her head, "if he does, it won't come true. Come on, now we can eat it – mmm... chocolate..." 

Pouting, Mrs. Whelton rubbed the top of her head where she'd been hit, "I still can't believe that you two went to the chocolate exhibition without me. That was rather underhanded of you." 

"Oh, I tried to go with you, but you had that computer class the one day I had off." 

"Excuses, excuses." 

While the two women bickered, Harry took the opportunity to reach in and cut himself a rather nice sized slice of his birthday cake. He was halfway finished with it when they realized that he'd started without them. Both being true chocoholics, it did not take them very long to catch up with him. 

Afterwards, they sat around and drank coffee and tea, talking. "It's hard to believe it's been an entire year," Harry said in wonderment. "Seems like only yesterday my aunt and uncle were tossing me out of their home." 

"You know, I probably shouldn't feel this way, but I'm glad that they kicked you out," Alice said, her eyes bright over the rim of her teacup. "If they hadn't, we never would have met you. And then life would have been a bit more boring." 

"It would be awful," Mrs. Whelton agreed. "I wouldn't have had anyone to bake for – and then I would eat all those sweets by myself, which I really shouldn't do. They all go straight to my thighs." 

Harry laughed, remembering how the girls in Gryffindor would complain about the exact same thing. "I don't know if I could have stood living with the Dursleys a day longer, myself," he admitted. "I might have gone over the edge and finally attacked them if I had to deal with them every day." He shuddered at the thought. 

"I still can't believe you were a museum virgin, Harry," Alice commented. "Why do they hate you so much, anyway? It's not like you're not a hard worker or really messy or stupid. Overall, you're not a bad kid." 

Confronted with this question, Harry had to think for a few minutes. He'd often wondered why the Dursleys of this world so disliked him, considering the fact that Aunt Petunia didn't have the chance to be jealous of her sister being a witch. And since the Dursleys had obviously never known about Harry's connection to the wizarding world through his father, they had no reason to dislike him because of his association with wizards and magic. He'd finally decided that there was only one possible answer. "I think it's because my mum wasn't married when she had me. And I guess they resented having to take care of me to a certain extent." 

Clasping her empty coffee mug between in her hands, Mrs. Whelton blinked owlishly. Harry suspected that she might have added some alcohol to her mug when she'd last gone back to the kitchen for a refill, but he wasn't going to say anything – he knew if she managed to make a fool of herself, she really wouldn't care in the morning. "Oh... I think... I might be ready for bed..." To the amazement of both Harry and Alice, she slumped forward, her eyes sliding shut. For a moment Harry panicked, but then Mrs. Whelton's lips parted to emit a loud snore. 

Wincing, Harry turned to Alice. "I think it's time for you to go." He got up off the sofa, and followed Alice down the stairs, waving goodbye to her before locking the back door behind her. Then he went back up the stairs, and woke up Mrs. Whelton long enough to trundle her off to bed, before going to bed himself. 

Settling under the light blanket he was using during the summer heat, he didn't feel like he was nineteen, but he also no longer felt like the seventh year he had once been. /That's the strange thing about birthdays,/ he thought vaguely as he drifted off to sleep, /you don't feel a year older until next one has come./ 

---

Stretching, Mrs. Whelton got up from her seat behind the counter. "Mm. Time for my nap, Harry," she announced, stifling a yawn. "That's the problem with these hot summer afternoons – the heat makes my eyes itchy and the rest of me dead tired." She stumbled off to the back room, and, Harry assumed, the flat. 

Straightening up from where he was dusting off the lower shelves, Harry moved his head side to side, trying to get rid of the crick in his neck. Then he walked over to the counter, pulling a book out of his back pocket, this week's choice being 'Neverwhere'. Harry found himself identifying with novel's main character – he could completely understand how upsetting it could be to suddenly wake up one morning and find that everyone you'd ever known had forgotten you. He was so immersed in the text that he didn't even notice the jangle of the bell over the door indicating that someone had entered the store. 

After a few minutes, Harry's mind finally registered the fact that someone was leaning over him, blocking his light. He grumbled mildly, but did not look up. "Can I help you?" 

"Is it any good?" 

"Very good, though a bit strange. I'm still trying to understand the whole thing with the rats... it doesn't quiet make sense. I think we may have copy, if you're interested – try the fantasy section, it's on the other side of the store," Harry waved vaguely to the other wall, still not looking up. 

"Oh, that's quite all right. I'm not that interested. I'd like to finally buy that werewolf book." At this Harry finally looked up, somewhat startled. 

"Professor? What are you doing back here?" 

"I was looking through my books when I suddenly realized that I'd been in here twice, and still hadn't bought that book. It may not be accurate in some parts, but it is, as near as I can tell, one of the oldest known written record of werewolves." He smiled slightly at Harry, "You can understand that I have a somewhat personal interest in the subject matter." 

Shrugging, Harry set his own book aside and pulled the werewolf book out from the display case, ringing it up. After paying for the book, Lupin picked up his bag and started for the door, then hesitated slightly. "Harry... the book wasn't the only reason for my visit, though I do want it. It seems that Voldemort's spies have noticed the Order's interest in you. They're now positioned around this shop, waiting. Albus has decided that it's not really safe for you to remain here – you have, after all, no way of protecting yourself." 

Shocked, Harry stared at the older man. "But – Voldemort – isn't he dead yet? I mean, hasn't your own hero or whatever he is killed him off by now? I'm pretty sure I did manage that in seventh year..." Harry felt panic racing through his veins. /If I didn't manage to kill Voldemort seventh year in my own world, then that means he's running loose, and Ron and Hermione and everyone are in danger still./ And then there were his friends in this world... "Am I the only one in danger? Or are Mrs. Whelton and Alice in trouble also?" 

"As near as we can figure, it's only you. From what our sources have told us, they seem to think that you're a wizard living as a Muggle. Albus wants you moved to a different location." 

"But... I don't have anywhere else to go! I'm lucky enough as it is that Mrs. Whelton gave me this job and a place to stay, I really doubt I'm going to be as lucky trying in another place. Anyone who might know me I don't know because I'm not exactly the same person, if you know what I mean." Harry knew that he sounded hysterical, but he couldn't really help it. He'd gone for an entire year without have to worry about anything more important than where he was going to put the next load of books that Mrs. Whelton bought for the shop. It had been nice not to have to worry about exams, life-threatening situations, or the fate of the world as he knew it. Now he found the last two being pushed onto him again, much to his horror. "I can't just pick up and leave–" 

"Harry, calm down." Reaching across the counter, Lupin placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We've already got at least part of it figured out; you're going to come live with Sirius and me. All you have to do is tell your Muggle friends that you have quit and move." 

"Oh, right, and how am I supposed to tell them that I've got to go or else I might turn up dead one morning because some dark wizard didn't like my looks?" Harry asked scathingly. "Like they'll really believe that." 

"Well, obviously you can't say that," Lupin replied. "Make something up. Say that you're going somewhere to study or something. University. Say that you're going to go to a university somewhere. You need to be ready to go by Thursday morning," Harry gulped, it was Tuesday already, they weren't giving him a lot of time, "I'll be coming by to pick you up. And Harry? I don't think you really have any choice in the matter." With those friendly parting words, Lupin smiled weakly and left the shop. 

Harry stared at the door as it swung shut, the bells attached to the doorframe jingling merrily. /And here I foolishly thought that I wasn't going to be a part of the wizarding world anymore./ 

---

In the end, Harry decided to just use the excuse that Lupin had already come up with. "It just seems a bit... sudden, that's all," Mrs. Whelton said, her face worried. It was Tuesday evening, and they were sitting in the kitchen with Alice, who had popped by that evening for dinner. They'd just finished eating, and Harry had decided that it was the ideal time to tell them that he was leaving. "I mean, you only just told us about this, and you're leaving on Thursday? Are you sure that this whole thing is legitimate?" 

"Yes, Mrs. Whelton, I'm sure. The reason I didn't tell you before was because I wasn't sure whether I'd gotten the scholarship or not. If I hadn't gotten it, I wouldn't be able to go, and it would have been pretty pointless to tell you about it at all." Harry sighed, this was the third time he was having to explain it to Mrs. Whelton. She didn't seem to want to accept that she was going to loosing her border and employee. "And I have to leave on Thursday if I want to move into my dorm room before the quarter starts." 

"Well, I for one am proud of you, Harry," said Alice evenly, her eyes steady behind her glasses. She seemed determined to be the solid one while her friend was busy having vapors. "I think you'll have a fine time at the university. What are you majoring in?" 

"Er..." 

"Most likely mythology or something similar," Mrs. Whelton put in, having managed to recover for the time being. "He reads every book that we get in on that subject. It's mythology, isn't it, dear?" She smiled happily at him. 

"Um. Actually, I was sort of thinking of being undeclared for now..." 

"Can't decided, hm?" Alice grinned mischievously and quirked an eyebrow. "It is rather sudden, though." 

"Well then, we'll have to throw a big going-away party tomorrow night, hm? I'll bake a pie, and we can stay up until all hours of the night!" Rubbing her hands together, Mrs. Whelton got an strange gleam in her eyes. It reminded Harry of the look Hermione had gotten in her eyes right before she started ranting about house elf rights. He began to edge away from Mrs. Whelton on the bench, deciding it would be a good idea to have a head start if the woman started passing out buttons. 

"I'm not going to be gone forever, Mrs. Whelton. I'll visit you when I have breaks," Harry reassured her, even though he wasn't sure would be able to do such a thing. "And I can't stay up too late tomorrow night, I need to be up early Thursday morning." 

All of a sudden Mrs. Whelton sat up straight, her mouth forming a little "oh!" of surprise. "I just realized something. Tomorrow will be Harry's last day working in the shop. We'll have to have a special 'Harry's Last Day'." 

"You don't have to do anything special..." 

"– I was thinking something along the lines of making him alphabetize the nonfiction section. What do you think, Alice?" 

"I must admit, the idea does have merit..." The librarian tapped her chin thoughtfully. Both women turned to study Harry, who was making quiet "gah" noises, his mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. 

"I don't know how you expect me to miss you, when you both have vile and evil plans for me," he complained, once he regained control of himself. He stood up and began gathering empty cups. Taking her cue, Alice stood up and grabbed her purse. 

"Now, don't forget to write while you're gone, you rascal," she said, giving him a light peck on the cheek. Harry rolled his eyes upwards and grimaced at this instruction. She then added, "I'd ask you to call, but you probably won't have a phone, just like nearly all your friends." She sniffed, "Still in the Dark Ages, if you ask me." Still laughing, she let herself out of the building, Harry a step behind her to lock the door. 

---

Suitcase packed, Harry was dutifully waiting out in front of the shop come Thursday morning. It was not the same case he had had with him over a year before when he'd been put out on the street by the Dursleys. Mrs. Whelton had taken one look at that case, and then proceeded to rummage around in her attic for an hour or so before producing a much larger, sturdier one. Harry had packed it with the various books and other odds and ends that he'd manage to accumulate over the short period of time he had lived with Mrs. Whelton, in addition to his clothing. At the time he'd felt excited, eager to once more be a part of the world he had grown familiar with during his years at Hogwarts. 

Now, he felt nervous and more than slightly foolish. He'd been waiting for over an hour and was beginning to worry that Lupin had been joking a few days before. /This is silly. I immediately hopped to it when he told me that line, and I have no idea whether he really meant it. Hell, if there are spies keeping tabs on me, how do I know that one of them didn't just use some Polyjuice potion to look like Lupin? It could have all been a set up. Or some huge joke at my expense./ 

He was so caught up in letting his thoughts spiral downwards in a swirl of self-pity, that he didn't notice a motorbike pull up next to him in the street. "Is that suitcase all you have?" Remus Lupin asked from where he sat on top of the bike. 

Harry blinked, then shook his head to clear his head. He then stared at the bike. "That's Sirius' motorbike, isn't it? I didn't know it was still around." He grabbed the helmet that Lupin offered him, fixed his case to the back of the bike, and then climbed up. 

"Hagrid had it in storage over at Hogwarts. He pulled it out a couple of years ago and let me use it." He grinned, and started the engine. 

"You're not going to make it fly, are you?" Harry shouted as trees and buildings passed by him in a blur. Riding a motorbike on the streets of Surrey was one thing, riding it in the air above was quite another. It was not that Harry was afraid of heights – oh no, he was quite comfortable up in the air when he had a broom clasped between his legs – it was just that he remembered his adventures with the Mr. Weasley's flying Ford Anglia and he wasn't exactly eager to try any other flying motor vehicles again any time soon. 

"No," Lupin yelled back, "Sirius never bothered to install an Invisibility Booster, so we're going to be stuck on the ground the entire way, unless we want to give a whole bunch of Muggles heart attacks." 

Well, that was just fine with Harry. He settled in, arms wrapped around Lupin's waist, and shut his eyes to the dizzy blur of the passing scenery. Eventually, Lupin came to a stop in front of a one-story house with a rather nice looking garden in front. It reminded Harry of something a little old lady would be expected to live in, and he said as much. 

"Well, my mother did live here by herself for several years. She died a few years ago, but I've managed to keep the garden up," Lupin explained, pulling off his helmet and tucking it under his arm. Harry took off his own helmet and passed it to Lupin, then went about getting his suitcase off the bike. "Come on, I want to get inside and clean up. I still don't know how Sirius can stand riding that thing – I always get off feeling like I have bugs stuck in my teeth." 

Grabbing his case, Harry nodded and headed for the door, pushing open the gate and walking up the path to the porch. Lupin had begun to unlock the door when it swung open, revealing Sirius Black, doorknob in hand. Catching sight of Harry, his grin widening. "Hi, Harry. Nice to see you again." He turned his head back into the house and yelled, "Hey, he's here! You might as well come and be sociable for once." 

Someone inside the house yelled something unintelligble back, and there was the sound of plodding footsteps. Suddenly a young man came into view behind Sirius. Slate grey eyes gazed coolly at Harry from behind long, pale blonde bangs. Sirius, busy making introductions, missed Harry's start of surprise. "Right then. This is Harry Evans. Harry, this is–" 

Harry's voice came out in a dry croak, "Malfoy. Can't say I'm overjoyed to see you again." 

---

Mmm... chocolate... 

Next chapter: thoughtful Harry; early morning Sirius; Malfoy recieves advice 


	5. Chapter 5: Who Can Say

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, however I do own the librarian and her friend.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP, OOC Malfoy  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 5: Who Can Say 

Who can say  
Where the road goes  
Where the day flows  
Only time 

– "Only Time," Enya 

Draco Malfoy continued to stare at Harry as if the other man were some sort of bug he was observing under a microscope, then shrugged, shifting his eyes to Lupin. He smiled a genuinely, and asked somewhat cheekily, "Hey, Remus. I see you managed to survive the Bike From Hell once again. How many Muggles do you think you ran down this time?" He and Sirius both moved aside in order to allow Lupin and Harry to enter the house. 

After setting the helmets down on an end table, Lupin made a beeline for a door to the left, mumbling something about needing to check his teeth for bugs. Sirius rolled his eyes, leaning against a bookshelf. "You can sit down if you like, Harry." 

Taking up Sirius' invitation to sit, Harry collapsed in an armchair, letting his eyes wander all over the room; looking everywhere, in fact, except for at Malfoy. Harry found that, while the outside of the house still bore evidence of Lupin's mother's influence, the inside had apparently been redone since her residence. Besides the armchair, a couch stood in the lounge, both obviously of Muggle manufacture, much to Harry's surprise. A china cabinet in the corner appeared to be normal on first glance, but closer observation revealed the contents would be rather out of place in a normal Muggle home. The fireplace next to the cabinet had some rather odd objects on the mantel as well. Overall, Harry was reminded of the Burrow, only with everything on a smaller scale and less cluttered. 

His face glowing from what Harry supposed had been a rather thorough scrubbing, Lupin stuck his head through the door. "How about I give you a tour of the house Harry, and then you can get settled into your room, all right?" Harry stood up, nodding to indicate that this would be okay with him. "Right then. So, this is the lounge – but then I guess you already knew that, hm?" He went back through the door, and this time Harry followed him into a small hallway. 

"Straight ahead is the bathroom, to the left is the room Sirius and I share." At this, Sirius poked his head through the door from the lounge. 

"Remember the warning, Remus..." Sirius began. 

"Oh, right. Don't try opening our bedroom door before ten in the morning – I'm okay with getting up early, but Sirius is most decidedly not a morning person. Okay, that door is Draco's room, and the door next to that leads to what's going to be your room." Lupin opened this door, letting Harry in. 

Placing his suitcase on the bed, Harry looked around. Besides the bed, there was an empty bookcase on the wall opposite the bed, a second door, and a closet. Curious, Harry opened up the second door, and found a small room with a sink, a large cauldron, and two more doors. He glanced at Lupin, his eyes questioning. "It used to be a washroom, but we converted it into a potions workroom. Kitchen's through there," he pointed to a open door in the workroom opposite the one Harry was standing in, "and the back yard is out that one. That's pretty much it." 

Nodding, Harry stepped back and closed the door to the workroom firmly. "Thank you. Um. I think I'll just unpack now, and maybe take a nap. Mrs. Whelton and Alice didn't let me get much sleep last night – they insisted on throwing a 'Harry's going off to university' bash. I think it ended somewhere around two in the morning." He yawned hugely, and sat down on the bed. 

"All right. I just leave then, hm?" Shutting the door behind him, Lupin left. 

---

Alone in the room now, Harry walked back over to the bed, and opened his suitcase, staring down at the contents. Pulling out the neatly folded clothing and placing it on the comforter of the bed, Harry grabbed his books from the case, then stalked over to the bookcase, intent at putting them away neatly on a shelf at eye level. 

Grabbing the stack of clothing off the bed, Harry headed over to the closet next. The closet had no door, instead a curtain had been hung on a rod in front of it. Pushing the curtain to the side, Harry pulled a hanger off of the rod spanning the width of the closet, then picked up a pair of trousers. As he worked, Harry stared off into space. It had been something of a shock, seeing Draco Malfoy here, of all places. Though he wondered vaguely why the other man was living with Lupin and Sirius, that was not what concerned him now. Instead, most of his mind was centered on the surge of emotions he'd felt upon seeing the Slytherin again. 

/I thought I got this all out of my system months and months ago,/ Harry thought angrily, grasping for another hanger. /But all I have to do is see him, and all the same old feelings come back again./ A hot, salty tear slid down Harry's cheek, and he slumped to the floor, abandoning the tasking of putting away his clothes. /I'm not going to let this get to me. Who cares about stupid Malfoy, anyway? He was just a bully in school, and anyway this isn't even the same Malfoy that I knew. He's probably a completely different person in some respects./ That was a slightly comforting thought, Harry decided. 

His tears, however, had not stopped falling. "I'm going to have to live with him," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm going to see him every day in this little house. I'm going to be expected to speak to him, to interact with him." 

Harry scrubbed at the tears with the back of his hand, then shot a desperate look at the door Lupin had left through. /I can't do it. It was hard enough before – I can't do this again!/ 

---

A light tapping on the door woke Harry from his doze. Blinking his eyes several times, he pushed himself up on the bed. He'd been having the strangest dream right before he'd been awakened; he had been trying to run away, only Malfoy kept on appearing in front of him, sneering and telling him how pathetic he was. /Where am I? Oh, right – Lupin's house./ The tapping came a second time on the door that led to the workroom. "Yes? What is it?" 

"Evans? Dinner is ready, if you're willing to come out." It was Malfoy, and Harry had to restrain himself from gritting his teeth at the other man's polite, well-meaning tone. 

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Harry padded over to the door and opened it, "Thank you for telling me, Malfoy." He began to turn around in order to leave through the other door in his room, when Malfoy caught his arm. "What?" he snapped, irritably. 

"You can come through this way – that door goes to the kitchen," he jerked his head backwards, "and the kitchen goes straight to the dining room." Malfoy smiled at Harry. "Look, I'm not going to bite you." 

Sighing, Harry acquiesced to being led to the dining room, where he found himself sitting next to Malfoy at the table. He kept his eyes focused on his plate, plowing through his food with a single-minded determination. 

"So," Lupin spoke up through the prevailing silence, "did you know Draco at Hogwarts, Harry?" 

Surprised, Harry chanced a look at Lupin, then returned his eyes to his plate and shrugged. "We were both Seekers for our House teams." /Better not say too much. I don't want to upset this Malfoy. He's not the same person that I knew, I shouldn't make him feel guilty for what the one I knew did./ 

Malfoy looked at him with interest, "So, you play Quidditch, Evans? Any good at it?" 

Another shrug. "I guess. I caught the Snitch nearly every time. Don't play anymore, though." 

He continued to answer questions from all three men in a similar, half-dead manner, until he finished his dinner, at which point he excused himself and retreated to his room. 

---

Bright sunlight hit his eyes, piercing through his shut lids. Moaning, Harry drew an arm up in order to cover them. This tactic proved to be successful except for one thing – it was damned uncomfortable. Grumbling, he lowered the arm and turned over in bed. This was definitely an improvement, and for a time, Harry was able to sleep peacefully once more. 

Then the birds started. Harry's eyes snapped open, and for a minute he just lay there, glaring at the wall. Having spent the last year living in the city, Harry had forgotten about the many disadvantages of living in less developed areas. For example, at the moment Harry was reaping the benefits that came with his new home. Like most wizarding dwellings, Lupin's house was located in a rural area, far enough from most Muggles to prevent unwelcome attention. This also meant that there were no tall buildings to block the morning sun, and nothing at all to block the birds that greeted that sun with loud chirps of happiness. 

Having decided that the world was conspiring against his intentions to sleep until eleven, Harry pushed himself up in bed, growling and glaring blearily at the window next to the head of the bed. He reached over and fumbled around for his glasses, which he was pretty sure he'd placed on the nightstand the night before. /Ah. Success./ Sliding the hooks behind his ears, Harry got up. He stumbled over to the door that opened into the hallway. Easing it open, he peeked out. Observing no signs of life, he stepped out into the hall, making sure to walk as quietly as possible. It couldn't be any later than seven o' clock, and he was not eager to upset his housemates by accidentally waking them up at an unbearable time of day. 

Making his way from the hall to the lounge, Harry paused for a moment in the large entryway that led from the lounge into the dining room, sure that he had just heard someone humming. Proceeding cautiously, Harry walked into the dining room and poked his head into the kitchen. Lupin was humming softly as he started the small coffee maker that stood on the counter. "Professor? Are you up already?" 

"Harry? Yes, I'm afraid I am. I want Sirius to run some errands today, and if I want him out of bed by a reasonable time I have to start the coffee early." He smiled helplessly, and Harry noted the mug the older man grasped with both hands, almost as if it were a lifeline. "You don't have to call me 'Professor' all the time, Harry. I never taught you, so it seems a bit silly. We're both adults, why don't you just call me Remus, like Draco does?" 

"Um, all right..." 

"Good, that's settled, then." He glanced down at the percolator, then back at Harry. "Care for a cup of coffee?" 

Despite himself, Harry scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue. "Good god, no! You couldn't get me to touch the coffee Sirius drinks with a ten foot pole – I _know_ how strong he likes it. It's just plain disgusting." 

Lu– Remus laughed, "I know the feeling. Actually, Sirius is the only one around here who drinks coffee. Draco and I just stick to tea," he raised his own mug. "Would you care for some?" 

Harry was about to say yes, when a strange sound from the lounge startled him, and he turned around to see what it was. Sirius walked in a straight line across the room wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms, his long black hair matted and scraggly. Though his eyes were still firmly shut, he turned to the left right before hitting the dining room table, the whole time sniffing enthusiastically. Stunned by the sight, Harry didn't move out of the doorway he was blocking in time, and the wizard walked right into him. 

Grunting, Sirius turned his head back and forth, almost as if he was looking for something. "Remy, it's not fair to move the furniture around before I've had my coffee," he complained. 

Harry glanced back at where Remus stood behind him, and saw that the other man was trying hard not to laugh. Sighing, Harry glared at the werewolf, then stepped to the side in order to let Sirius through. 

Coming to a stop right by the coffee maker, Sirius held his right arm out to Remus, hand grasping. "Coffee?" he asked hopefully. Remus rolled his eyes, but he went ahead and filled a mug from the pot and placed it in Sirius' hand. Taking a long sip, Sirius smiled. "Mm. Goood." He wandered out of the kitchen, and settled down at the dining room table. 

"Tea, Harry?" Remus asked a second time. 

"Huh? Oh, sure." Grabbing his own mug, Harry retreated to his room, where he shut the door and curled up in bed with a book. He'd decided that he didn't want to be around when Malfoy finally decided to grace the rest of the household with his presence. 

---

"All I ever see you do is read. Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" 

Marking his place with his thumb, Harry closed the book and looked up from where he sat on the front porch. "Why do you care, Malfoy?" 

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy sat down next to Harry, causing the black haired man to flinch away. "It just seems that you could do some other things. You might be happier then." 

"Who says I'm not happy? I enjoy reading. I like books." Flipping his book open again, Harry turned back to reading, determined to ignore the Slytherin. 

"You enjoy reading, but are you happy? Looks like you're just trying to escape from what's around you, Evans." Malfoy leaned over to look at the book that Harry was reading. Snapping the book shut again, Harry glared at Malfoy. 

"So what if I am trying to escape? It's none of your business," Harry growled, wondering whether it would be worth it to get up and find someplace else to read. While on the one hand it would mean admitting defeat, on the other he would be able to escape from Malfoy and finish the story he was reading. He turned his head to the side, and looked down at the bushes next to the porch. Harry would have continued glaring, but he couldn't stand looking at Malfoy for too long. 

Malfoy didn't reply, instead staring off into the distance, at the meadow on the other side of the road, at the flowers in the garden. Harry didn't really know or care, he had his own thoughts to worry about. /I can't leave – I can't let him know I'm afraid of him,/ he told himself sternly. /But I don't know if I can stand having him sit next to me much longer. It's too much, too close... why does it have to be so hard?/ His eyes began to itch with the tears that were begging to be let loose. 

At length, Malfoy finally spoke. "What are you trying to escape from, Evans?" 

"Like I said before, Malfoy, it's none of your business." Turning so that his back was to the other man, Harry opened his book and tried yet again to read it. "Can't you leave me alone for once in your life? Would it really kill you to do that just this one time?" 

With his back to Malfoy, he couldn't see the wizard's expressions, so Harry had no warning for what was said next. "Christ, you're impossible! I've only talked to you once or twice since you came here two weeks ago, and you're making it out to seem as if I'm constantly tormenting you or something!" 

Harry decided that he'd had enough. He jumped to his feet and whirled around to face Malfoy. "And how do I know you won't constantly torment me?! Everyone else is exactly the same here as they were back home – am I supposed to sit here and happily wait for you to come and stab me in the back a second time? I'm not an idiot, Malfoy, I do learn from past mistakes!" His eyes flashed with anger, and he left, entering the house. 

"I don't know what your problem is," Malfoy called after him, "but you had better deal with it – remember, it's going to be just the two of us here for the next nine months or so." 

As he collapsed against the inside of the door to his room, Harry gloomily admitted to himself that Malfoy was right. Remus had to leave on the first of September; he had returned to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts the year before, apparently. The war against Voldemort had gotten so bad that parents didn't mind having their children taught by a werewolf anymore, as long as the man knew his stuff. And Sirius was to go with Remus as his lovable dog. 

/Nine months of living in a small house with Malfoy,/ Harry thought dismally. /I may as well kill myself now and save him the trouble./ He blinked, then laughed bitterly, /What am I thinking? Help Malfoy? Hah! As if./ 

---

Holding a suitcase in each hand, Remus shot the two young men a worried look. "You'll send me an owl if there's any trouble, won't you, Draco?" Sirius, once again in his Animagus form, sat next to him, tongue lolling out, his tail thumping happily on the ground. He'd been playing fetch with Malfoy earlier in the morning, and the excitement hadn't worn off yet. 

Laughing, the blonde nodded and made a shooing motion. "For the tenth time, yes! Now hurry up, or else you two will miss the train." Both Remus and Sirius were Apparating to King's Cross, and then taking the Hogwarts Express to the school. 

Harry himself snorted at Malfoy's words. "And I don't think the Weasleys will let you borrow their car to get there if you do miss the train," he murmured. 

"Hm? What was that about the Weasleys, Harry?" Remus asked, turning to look at the newest addition to his rather haphazard household. 

"Nothing. You'd better go now; hope you have a brilliant year." Harry flushed, remembering that the Weasleys no longer had a car, since the Ford Anglia had gone wild after he and Ron had crashed it into the Whomping Willow. Or the Whomping Willow had crashed into it, they had never quite decided which it had been exactly. But maybe the car hadn't been crashed in this world...? 

"See you at Christmas, then." Both wizards popped out of sight, and Harry let out a sigh, and edged away from Malfoy on the porch. 

"Please," Malfoy rolled his eyes, "I'm not contagious. And, contrary to what some may believe, I don't stab people in the back." 

He stalked off inside, which was fine with Harry, who pulled a paperback out of his pocket and sat down on the porch, enjoying the day, which had not yet turned terribly hot. The peace was not to last, however. Soon, Malfoy was back out again, broom in hand. Harry watched as the Slytherin strode down the steps, mounted his broom, and sped off across the road to the meadow on the other side. There, the wizard flew up higher and began his arial acrobatics. 

Despite what he told himself, Harry soon found himself setting his book aside and watching Malfoy's ariel display. Even though he himself was not the one on the broom, Harry took joy in simply watching the way the broom was handled. The other man wasn't quite as good as Harry remembered from the games they'd played in seventh year, which was strange. 

/There's another thing I'll never get to do again,/ he thought sadly. There had been so few things that had made him as happy as he had been when he was on a broom. But he wasn't a wizard anymore, was instead a Muggle, and there was no chance he'd ever feel a broom clasped between his legs again. No, he would be stuck on the ground for the rest of his life, unless he decided to ride an airplane somewhere, and then it just wouldn't be the same thing. /Maybe I ought to take up hang gliding,/ Harry thought idly. 

He winced as Malfoy kept on messing up one move. Finally giving in to temptation, Harry stood up and walk across the road to stand at the edge of the meadow. He watched as Malfoy positioned himself to try again, and called out, "You'll never get that spiral to work like that, Malfoy." 

Apparently, Malfoy hadn't noticed Harry's approach, because he was obviously thrown off by the voice. Steadying himself, he glared down at Harry. "What makes you say that, Evans?" 

"Because you're not sitting correctly. The thing that makes that spiral work is the fact that the broom is unbalanced – and you're sitting too far back for that. What you want to do is start flying in a straight line, then slant downwards and let your body slide forward until it's about a handswidth from the tip of the broom. This throws the broom's balance off and makes it spiral during the plunge," Harry explained, demonstrating the technique with hands. He hadn't understood the move at first himself, having first learned of it from one of Ron's Quidditch magazines during his fifth year at Hogwarts. 

Malfoy looked looked down thoughtfully, and nodded. "If you say so..." He tried again, this time taking Harry's advice and moving forward on his broom at the last moment. To Harry, it looked as if the corkscrew worked so effectively that Malfoy almost didn't pull up in time. Once free of the spiral, Malfoy glided over until he was at eye level with Harry, and grinned. "Thanks for the help, Evans." 

Harry shrugged, not looking at the man on the broom. "Thanks for not being stubborn about it. At least I didn't have to tell you the same thing half a dozen times before you'd try it this time," he said, thinking of the Malfoy that he'd been familiar with. The memory of trying to teach Malfoy brought other memories to the surface, memories that Harry would rather not think about. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to clear it of old words and familiar images. /I'm not going to think about that,/ he told himself firmly, /it's gone, it's over, and it never existed in the first place./ When he opened his eyes, he found that Malfoy was staring at him. "What?" he snapped. 

"What do you mean, 'this time'? You've never told me about anything before, Evans." Malfoy was watching him suspiciously, obviously thinking that there must be something wrong with Harry's head. 

"You're right," Harry smiled weakly, "I haven't." He scuffed his feet a few times, looking down at his shoes. Now that he was no longer talking about Quidditch, he felt awkward, standing there on the ground, while Malfoy hovered in front of him. "I – I'm going back to the house." 

Harry turned around and trudged back across the road, picking up his book as he climbed the steps to the porch. He glanced over his shoulder at one point, and wasn't surprised to see that Malfoy was doing the same corkscrew over and over again, refining it now that he had the basics down. It was a good move, one that threw off players on the other team. The broomstick's twirl actually caused it to pick up speed, so that when you pulled out of the dive, you were going faster than the maximum speed for the broom. 

It was also a very dangerous move, since it was possible for the broom to flip over, bucking you off. Because of this, it was a move mainly used by Seekers, since it favored smaller, lighter players. Before Harry had taught it to Malfoy, he had be able to use it to turn around many games. 

Pausing in the doorway to the kitchen, Harry stared off into space. /Standing there... I could almost believe that it was seventh year again, and I was teaching Malfoy how to improve his abilities as a Seeker.../ He put his book down on the counter, and turned to the refrigerator, pulling out a loaf of bread and other items for a sandwich. 

Spreading mustard on a slice of bread, Harry frowned. /And when he flew down after pulling off that corkscrew, it was almost as if he was going dismount and–/ Again Harry pushed the thought out of his head. /Idiot. Don't think about that. It was all fake, all a lie. He told you that, didn't he? Don't dwell on the past. Remember, nine months. You had best get better control of yourself./ But no matter how many times he told himself to forget, the memories kept returning when he least expected it.. 

---

Um. It helps if you imagine Remus' house as being shaped sort of like a donut, only in a rectangular shape and with a wall in the middle instead of a hole (if that makes any sense) 

Next chapter: Malfoy does domestic; Harry is informed of A Certain Threat to the human race; Malfoy learns about afterstories. 


	6. Chapter 6: Crossed the Last Line

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, however I do own the librarian and her friend.  
Many thanks to Rapunzel for allowing me to borrow the sheep man. Thanks, 'Zel-chan! You rock my socks .  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP, OOC Malfoy  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 6: Crossed the Last Line 

It doesn't mean much  
It doesn't mean anything at all  
The life I've left behind me  
Is a cold room  
I've crossed the last line  
From where I can't return  
Where every step I took in faith  
Betrayed me  
And led me from my home 

– "Sweet Surrender," Sarah McLachlan 

Harry had his head stuck inside the fridge, searching for the loaf of bread that he knew had to be in there somewhere, when Malfoy walked into the kitchen. "You're not going to find any bread in there, Evans. I ate the last piece earlier." 

Turning to glare at the other man, Harry rolled his eyes. "Well that's just great. What am I supposed to eat for breakfast if I can't have toast?" 

"Good question. We seem to be out of just about everything. I guess I'll have to go to town today and get some groceries." Leaning against the counter, Malfoy grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil from the small table standing in the kitchen. He started scribbling things down on the pad. "Let's see. We need bread, eggs... Have we got any milk?" 

"Go to town?" Harry blinked in surprise. 

"Well, yes. You didn't think the food just appeared in the fridge and the cabinets, did you? I walk over to the nearby Muggle town and pick up things. What's the milk situation?" 

Pulling down the carton, Harry opened the spout and peered inside. "It looks like there's enough for today, and that's about it." 

"Milk as well, then. What were you planning for dinner, Evans?" After some experimentation over the course of September, they'd discovered that Harry was the better cook, and so Malfoy had been delegated to clean-up duty. 

"I was thinking spaghetti, so put down noodles and tomato paste, too." Straightening, Harry closed the door of the fridge and walked up to Malfoy, looking over his shoulder at the list that had been composed. "I think that's about it. Say, could I come with you when you go to town? I'd like to get out of the house." 

Malfoy laughed and cocked his head to the side. "What, are you actually _volunteering_ to spend some time with me? That's amazing, most of the time you act like I'm carrying the plague or something." 

"I'm not going to spend time with you, I'm going to find out how to get to town in case I want to go by myself sometime," Harry ground out, glaring even harder than he had earlier. Pointedly ignoring Malfoy, he opened up a cupboard and pulled out a box of instant porridge. It wasn't great, but it would be better than nothing. 

---

Later in the day, Harry was lying on his bed rereading 'Three Men in a Boat', when Malfoy stuck his head in through the door. Carefully setting his book to the side, Harry scooted up into a sitting position. "What?" 

"I'm leaving now – you ready, Evans?" 

Nodding his head, Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and pulled on his trainers, before following Malfoy out of the house. They paused for a moment as Malfoy locked the door, and then started down the path. Harry kept his mouth shut, having decided that he would be able to get through this if he just kept his attention focused on anything but the other man. 

For a time they walked in silence, then Malfoy spoke up. "So... have you always been such an avid reader?" Concentrating on a stand of trees in front of them and to the right, Harry shook his head. "Huh, strange. I thought–" Malfoy stopped, and shrugged. "When did this book obsession start, anyway?" 

"Recently. Wasn't much of anything else to do during the last year," Harry said quietly, as he tried shifting his view to his feet. This proved to be a bad move on his part, since in looking at his own shoes, he got a good view of Malfoy's as well. He jerked his head away, back to the trees. /Not going to think about it. Not going to think about it. Not going to think about how–/ he cut the thought off before it could develop any further. "And when your only friends consist of a librarian and the owner of a bookstore..." 

Malfoy said nothing more for several yards, and Harry decided that, from the way the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, the blonde was staring at him strangely. "Good Lord... you mean to say that what Remus said was true? That you only had two friends back in Surrey? But... surely you had some friends in school–" 

"Either I don't remember them, or they don't remember me." Harry shrugged, "It doesn't really matter any more." They were up next to the trees now, so Harry instead concentrated on a large boulder that was occasionally visible between the trunks of the trees. 

"But– what about your family?" 

Giving in to his baser instincts, Harry slowly turned his head towards Malfoy. He didn't need to say anything, the glare he fixed on his face was more than enough to keep Malfoy from talking any more. Turning his attention back to the boulder, Harry thought about what Malfoy had said. /He doesn't believe the whole idea of my being from a parallel world. Hell, why should he? Half the time I don't believe it myself!/ 

The rest of the walk to town continued in relative silence, with Malfoy making no more attempts at conversation. 

When they reached the town, Malfoy made a beeline for the local grocery store. When they reached the doors, Harry held back. Malfoy gave him a confused look, "Well, come on." 

Harry sighed, and rolled his eyes. "I should hope you don't need help picking up a few groceries, Malfoy. I'm not going in with you, I have some errands of my own that I need to get done," he added, as if in explanation. 

"Fine, be a git then," Malfoy growled, passing through the doors, hardly noticing as they opened automatically in front of him. This threw Harry off for a moment; he remembered the time when he and Hermione had taken Ron to a Muggle store. Ron had kept on jumping back in shock whenever confronted by a new Muggle device. After a moment, however, he decided that Malfoy would have to be used to such things if he had indeed been doing the shopping up until now. 

Shrugging off Malfoy's behavior, Harry walked over to the post office, where he purchased a sheet of stamps. He'd remembered to get paper and envelopes before leaving Surrey, but had forgotten stamps. It would be quite difficult to keep his promise to Alice and Mrs. Whelton to write and keep them posted on how he was doing if he didn't have any stamps, he decided. Something told him that, no matter how wacky and generally weird Mrs. Whelton might be, she would not take well to receiving a letter from him by owl. 

Digging into his pocket, he retrieved the rather beat-up envelope that he had stuffed in it earlier in the day. He'd written the letter itself a few days ago when he'd had nothing better to do, and after hearing about going to town from Malfoy that morning, he'd gone to the trouble of actually finding an envelope and addressing it. Separating a stamp from the sheet, he licked the back and, still grimacing at the horrid taste of the glue, stuck it in the corner of the envelope, before shoving the whole thing into the waiting box. 

Having completed the only truly pressing errands that he had assigned himself, Harry left the post office and went off in search of something much better: a library. He had, unfortunately, already read all of the books that he'd brought with him, some of them multiple times. This, he decided, was yet another unfortunate side affect of trying very hard to ignore Malfoy twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. 

After asking a few different people for directions, Harry eventually found himself in front of the library. Pushing the door open cautiously, he poked his head in, inhaling the dusty, cool scent that all libraries seemed to have. Sliding in, he wandered over to the fiction section, his eyes bright in anticipation. 

---

Harry was sitting on the floor, cross-legged and leafing through a copy of 'To Say Nothing of the Dog', when a shadow fell across the pages of the book in his lap. He tilted his head backwards in order to better glare at the person behind him who happened to be casting said shadow. Unfortunately, he was caught slightly off guard, and ended up leaning back more than he'd originally intended, and he managed to fall backwards, hitting his head on the floor. 

Still standing there, an amused smirk on his face, Malfoy gave a short laugh. "I figured you would be here. I knew it would have to be either a library or a bookshop." 

Gathering together his dignity, Harry glared up at Malfoy from where he lay on the floor. Placing the book he was still holding to the side, Harry attempted to sit up. This, however, proved to be a useless struggle against that vindictive force of nature, gravity. 

Still stifling laughter, Malfoy shifted a grocery bag from one hand to the other, and crouched down and offered Harry his now-free hand. Harry stared at the hand for a moment, then grabbed a shelf on the bookcase next to him and, scooping up the book he had been reading, drew himself up. Now that he was in a sitting position, it was much easier for Harry to stand up, which he proceeded to do, pointedly ignoring Malfoy the entire time. /He probably thinks I'm a regular riot, managing to fall down when I'm not even standing up. Most likely laughing himself silly inside./ Harry reached over and gathered together the stack of books that he'd placed on the bookcase earlier, before he'd sat down to look at the fascinating book that he'd found. Books in hand, Harry strode purposefully over to the Circulation desk. A curious Malfoy followed him along. 

"What are you doing?" asked Malfoy. 

Sighing, Harry rolled his eyes as he joined two other people in line for to check out. "I want to check these books out. I filled out the papers and got a card when I first came in, so now I can check them out. I've already read most of the books I brought with me at least twice." Pulling out the library card he'd received from the Information desk earlier, Harry showed it to Malfoy. 

"The library lets you take books home?" Malfoy asked in awe. "Just because you have that little card? How do they know you won't just steal the books?" 

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought that Malfoy would be so impressed by a simple library card. "When I filled out the papers for the card, I had to put down an address – I used Remus' address since I'm going to be staying there for an indefinite amount of time. If I don't return a book by the required date, I'll be fined the next time I come in. Also, if I still haven't returned the book after a certain amount of time – I'm not sure how long it is for this library – they'll send a letter telling me about it. If I still don't return the book or pay for a replacement copy, I won't be allowed to check out any more books. Sometimes people do steal books, but usually they don't, since they want to check out more books." 

The people ahead of Harry had been helped while he was busy explaining the workings of the Muggle library system to Malfoy, and it was now Harry's turn. He walked up to the counter, putting down his stack of books, and sliding his card over to the librarian. She smiled at him, scanned the card, then proceeded to scan the barcodes on the backs of all the books. After stamping the return date on the back of each book, she handed them over, reminding him that they would all be due in three weeks. 

As the two young men walked away from the counter, heading towards the door, Malfoy was respectfully silent. This ended as soon as they were out the door of the library, however. "What was she doing with that light pen and those little lines on the books, Evans?" 

"The pen was a barcode scanner, and the 'little lines' are barcodes. Each book has a different barcode, and the librarian is able to scan the codes in order to tell the computer which books are being checked out. Library cards have barcodes too, which can be scanned in order to tell the computer who is checking out what." 

"Wicked. We never learned about 'barcodes' in Muggle Studies. Professor Knight didn't even tell us that Muggles could take library books home." Swinging his bags back and forth, Malfoy began to whistle as he walked. 

Harry, however, remained standing still, frozen with shock. "Muggle... Studies? Since when did you ever take Muggle Studies, Malfoy?" 

The whistling stopped, and so had Malfoy, who turned around to look at Harry. "Third year through seventh year. It seemed like a good idea at the time, since Muggles do make up most of the world's human population." 

"But – but you're _Malfoy_!" 

"And is there a book somewhere that says I can't take Muggle Studies or be interested in Muggle culture? That seems awfully crass to me." He shrugged, then walked up to Harry, placing a finger under Harry's chin, "You might want to shut your mouth, by the way. You're liable to let in flies if you keep it open like that." He pushed Harry's slack jaw up, shutting his mouth, and smiled. 

Clenching his teeth together, Harry knocked away Malfoy's hand. "_Don't_ touch me, Malfoy." Clutching his books to his chest, Harry began walking at a fast pace. Unfortunately, he managed to walk straight into an old man who had been standing in front of the supermarket. "Oh. I'm so sorry, sir," said Harry politely, backing away. 

"It's all right, son. By the way, boy, are you _prepared_?!" The old man flung his arms outward, almost hitting a young woman who was walking into the store. Froth specked the corners of of the man's mouth and his eyes sparkled with a crazy light. 

"Excuse me, prepared?" Harry asked cautiously. 

"Prepared for the final battle that is sure to come some day soon! Or are you like the rest of them, content with being picked off one at a time by their assassins?" 

"...assassins...?" Harry was beginning to get a sick feeling in his stomach. /"The final battle that is sure to come... picked off one at a time by their assassins." Is he talking about Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Has it come this far, that even Muggles are aware of the war in the wizarding world?/ Right when Harry was about to ask about this, Malfoy strode up and slowly dragged the shocked Harry away from the man. 

"No need to worry, sir. Evans here is perfectly aware and ready for the threat," Malfoy reassured the man. 

"Right then, should have known he was with you, Malfoy. Always knew I could count on you to be prepared," the old man nodded absentmindedly, then turned his sharp gaze back to Harry. "Don't ever let them catch you off guard, boy. Remember, the sheep only _look_ dumb and innocent. You and I both know that they're really out to kill off the human race and take over the world." With that, he strode off to find another victim. 

"...sheep? What does he mean, _sheep_?!" cried Harry, exasperated. 

Patting Harry's shoulder, Malfoy smirked. "It's all right, Evans. He's been going on about how the sheep are out to take over the world for several years now, according to Remus. Apparently he even has a list somewhere of all the different times that sheep have somehow managed to kill people off – the 'killer sheep list'. It's better to just smile and nod if he starts talking to you." 

Jerking away from Malfoy's hand, Harry glared at the Slytherin. "_No_ touching." 

"Okay, okay! Sorry, I guess I forgot." Malfoy shrugged, and fell into step next to Harry as they went down the road, both walking in silence. 

---

Sealing the top on the pressure cooker, Harry turned on the burner under the it, then moved over to reach up into the the cupboards. Remus had told him before he'd left that the household appliances actually ran on magic, not electricity or gas as it might appear. Harry thought it was fascinating how wizards had many of the same conveniences as Muggles, though slightly modified. He pulled a container of sage out of the cupboard and was about to add it to a pan on the stove, when he walked into Malfoy. 

"Watch it, Evans," he growled, taking a step backwards and leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. Moving over to the stove now that the way was clear, Harry gave Malfoy a strange look. 

"What do you want, Malfoy? I'm kind of busy right now, in case you hadn't noticed." Placing the container of sage on the counter, Harry lowered the heat under the pan on the stove. "And if you distract me and I end up burning something – well, it's your dinner too." 

"Hostile much, Evans?" Smirking, Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I was just wondering if I could help you with anything." 

Harry paused a moment, looking Malfoy up and down. He wasn't sure whether he was thrown off more by Malfoy's presence or by the offer of help. Ever since the trip to town the month before and the aborted attempt to get Harry to talk about his friends and family, Malfoy had pretty much acquiesced to Harry's unspoken plea to be left alone, so it was strange that Malfoy had chosen now to come over. And the offer of help – hell, the very idea of _Malfoy_ volunteering of his own free will to help make dinner... that bit was certainly unexpected! /Of course,/ Harry reminded himself, /this is the same Malfoy that goes grocery shopping.../ Having come to a conclusion, Harry decided that it would be relatively safe to trust Malfoy with an easy task. "Do you think you could make a fruit salad? All you have to do is cut up the fruit." 

Malfoy shrugged and nodded, moving over to the fruit bowl to pick out the fruit that looked best – not that there was often a need to worry about fruit going bad, considering the preserving charm on the bowl. Selecting an apple, an orange, and a handful of grapes, Malfoy proceeded to wash off the apple and grapes in the sink. "I read one of those Muggle books you're at all the time, you know," he suddenly said into the prevailing silence of the kitchen. 

In the process of turning off the heat beneath the pressure cooker, Harry paused. "Really? Which one? I have a lot of 'Muggle books' around." 

"The one with all the stuff about the Muggle Underground... where the man wakes up one morning and no one remembers him." Having pulled out the cutting board, Malfoy began slicing up the apple, taking care to remove the core as he worked. He paused and asked cautiously, "I... Was that what it was like for you? Waking up one day and not having any of the people you used to know remember you?" 

Pulling the saucepan off the stove, Harry poked Malfoy in the ribs. "Get a bowl out for me, will you?" A flick of a wand and a short phrase later, a bowl was hovering in front of Harry, and he poured the meat in the pan into the bowl. The bowl proceeded to float past him and into the dining room, where it landed gracefully on the table. "Show off," Harry grumbled, leaving the hot pan on the stove and picking up the pressure cooker. He walked over to the sink and set the cooker down inside of it. "Yes, it was kind of like that, though a bit different," Harry said quietly in answer to Malfoy's question. "I mean, my relatives remembered me, but that was it. None of the important people did. No one who really mattered." He opened the tap and watched the cold water hit the lid of the cooker. 

Laughing nervously, Malfoy nodded, barely noticing as the fruit he'd cut up waddled across the cutting board and jumped into a bowl that he'd gotten out earlier. "Can I ask you something else?" 

The pressure released on the cooker, and Harry opened it, inspecting the broccoli inside. "I don't see why not. I can't guarantee that I'll answer, though." He looked around for someplace to put the broccoli, and nearly jumped when a bowl nudged against his ribs. He grinned at Malfoy, "Thanks." 

Putting down his knife, Malfoy studied Harry. "You should do that more often." 

"What, agree to answer your questions, or thank you?" 

"Well, the thanking part was nice, but no. I meant the smiling part. Strangely enough, you don't look half-bad when you smile." He ducked the playful blow that came from the other man. "Anyway, I was wondering... Is the Underground really like the way the book describes it?" 

"What, with all those strange names? Yeah, I never understood what they were named after either," Harry opened up a drawer and rummaged around for knives and forks. 

"No, with the rats and markets and birds and strange people–" Malfoy began, breaking off as Harry slumped against the counter, laughing so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks. "What? What did I say?" 

"All right, Malfoy, you get the plates, and I'll explain the concept of 'fiction' to you while we eat dinner..." 

---

Outside it was raining – typical autumn weather in this area – while inside both men were sitting in the lounge, reading. It was relatively quiet, except for the occasional turn of a page, or a crackle from the fire in the big fireplace that dominated the room. After getting Malfoy to admit that he hadn't understood a lot of what had happened in the book he'd grabbed randomly from Harry's bookshelf, Harry had begun to set aside books that he felt Malfoy would understand better – that is, books that went so far into the fantasy genre that they rarely had any sort Muggle technology appear in them. This didn't mean that there wasn't the occasional question about what was occurring in a book– 

"Evans..." 

– like now. Harry sighed, and proceeded to uncurl from the ball he'd made of himself in the armchair, padding over to the couch to see what Malfoy was having a problem with this time. "What it is this time?" 

Tilting his head backwards so that his grey eyes peered up innocently at Harry, Malfoy gestured to the book. "Why should it matter if Jesse fell in one of the craters? And what are 'offworlders'?" 

Rubbing his temples, Harry groaned. /I'd forgotten that 'Dreamsnake' was an afterstory, not a fantasy book. Oops, too late now.../ "The craters are impact craters from a nuclear war. There are... bad diseases in the craters that can cause cell breakdown and stuff like that. The 'offworlders' are people that live on other planets. They left the earth long before the nuclear war, colonizing other planets." 

"So this book takes place after a 'nuclear war'?" Exasperated by Harry's nod of ascent, Malfoy threw out his arms, "Why didn't you give me the first book then? I would understand the sequel a lot better if I was able to read about what happened in the nuclear war first!" 

"Malfoy, this is the first book. It's called an 'afterstory' because it takes place after a nuclear war. It's a common enough theme in Muggle science fiction that most people understand what's going on. If you're too confused by that one, I'll give you a different book to read – I only gave you that one because you always like potions so much, and I thought you'd like how Snake uses her serpents to make medicines," Harry said, reaching for the book in Malfoy's lap. 

Batting the hand away, Malfoy glared up at green-eyed man. "No, no – it's all right. You're right though, the thing with changing the venom is very interesting – like the idea of using a little bit of venom to concoct a cure for a snakebite. And it's neat that it's all about snakes." He smirked at Harry, "Some Gryffindor you are, having a book that's all about snakes." 

Harry rolled his eyes, "I'm not a Gryffindor here, Malfoy, so don't you try to make me feel guilty about that book. And even if I were still a Gryffindor, what's wrong with being interested in snakes? I remember there were these two Ravenclaws a few years below me, and they were both wild about snakes." Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully, "Though, come to think of it, they were also ranting on about world domination a lot of the time..." 

Malfoy snickered, "Oh, I think I know who you're talking about! They kept on trying to sneak into Slytherin after that idiot Pritchard made the mistake of letting it slip that he had a pet mountain king snake. They almost made it one time, except Professor Snape caught them before they could get any farther than the common room." 

"I remember hearing about that from Dennis Creevey! How did they manage to get into the Slytherin common room in the first place?" Harry asked, excited that he was at last able to talk about the various strange happenings at Hogwarts with someone, even if that someone was Malfoy. 

"Well, from what I heared, it involved a ball, a large carving knife, and this long flower chain that they'd made..." 

---

Yay! It's done! Evil, evil Chapter 6... Gah. I can't write Malfoy to save my life. ::throws a shoe at him:: Yah! Why do you have to be so damned hard to write?! 

Next chapter: comfort foods; a Quidditch Scene; Christmas: the sequel 


	7. Chapter 7: Trying

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world both belong to J.K. Rowling, several publishing companies (Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books, Scholastic Books), and Warner Brothers, Inc., and as I'm not a part of any of them I therefore own none of it. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, please don't sue. Ahem, however I do own the librarian and her friend.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP, OOC Malfoy, my attempting to write a Quidditch scene (hide! hide!)  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 7: Trying 

We're living in the land of make-believe  
And trying not to let it show  
Maybe in the land of make-believe  
Heartaches can turn into joy 

– "Land of Make-Believe," Moody Blues 

For once, the sunshine and the birds did not wake Harry up. The storm clouds blocked out the sun, and it was raining too hard for even the birds to be out. Unfortunately for Harry, he had become conditioned to awaking at slightly after six thirty in the morning, so despite his respite from the sun and the birds, he still woke up too early. Growling, Harry turned over in bed and squeezed his eyelids tightly together. Then the hail started. 

Deciding that he'd already lost the battle for sleep, Harry got out of bed. Well, at least that was what he meant to do. Instead, his aim was a bit off and he ended up rolling out of bed and onto the floor, knocking over the table next to the bed in the process. For a moment he just lay there on the floor, wincing at the temperature difference between his nice warm bed and the rest of the room. Lying there, he became aware of the sound of someone running down the hall. Suddenly, the door was flung open, and there stood Malfoy, hanging onto the door frame and panting, obviously out of breath. If Harry hadn't been so groggy, he would have glared at the intrusion. 

"Are you– are you all right?" Malfoy gasped as he finally caught his breath. "I heard a crash..." He blinked, taking in the scene before him. Table lying on its side, Harry sprawled out on the floor, still partly caught up in his bedding. Reaching down, he picked up Harry's glasses, which had gone flying across the room when the table they had been on turned over. He turned them around for a moment, then passed them to Harry. 

"I'm fine. I just fell, that's all," Harry growled as he put his glasses on and began to untangle himself from the sheets and blankets that were wrapped around his legs. 

Malfoy walked over and righted the table, carefully picking up all the different little objects that had been thrown off it when it was knocked over. Placing them on the tabletop, he rubbed his arms, "God, it's cold in here." 

Having finally extricated himself from the covers, Harry rolled his eyes in agreement, "Bloody stupid wizards, bet you haven't ever even _heard_ of the words 'central heating'. If I was back in Surrey at Mrs. Whelton's place, all I'd have to do is turn up the thermostat. Here I have to start a fire in the fireplace, then sit around and watch it to make sure that it doesn't go out before it can start warming the place up." 

"Why bother with the fireplace? All you need to do is perform a simple warming spell–" Malfoy broke off as he saw the look that Harry was giving him. "Oh, right. Here, look, I'll do it for you and bind it to the room." He took his wand out of his robe, and performed the charm. He smiled in relief as the room warmed up, "That's better." 

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, turning to put the bedding back on the bed as well as avoid Malfoy's gaze. 

"Did you hear the hail start? It's insane, I'm going to have to bring Viator in. He can't stand being cooped up in the shed when it hails," Malfoy commented, staring out Harry's window. 

"Oh," said Harry weakly, fiddling with the knickknacks that Malfoy had replaced on the table. Viator was Malfoy's owl, a brown short-eared that Harry had found to be very affectionate. He had yet to ask what had happened to the eagle owl that he remembered Malfoy having at Hogwarts. 

For a moment the two men stood there in silence, neither looking at the other as the hail drummed down on the roof of the house outside. Then Malfoy turned and went out the door into the workroom, presumably to go out to the back door and retrieve Viator from the shed, and Harry went to his dresser, retrieving a pair of fuzzy wool socks and pulling them over his feet. He wasn't going to take the chance that Malfoy might not have cast a heating charm in the kitchen as well as the bedrooms. 

Socks on, Harry padded through the workroom and into the kitchen. Glancing around the room, he decided that wanted something more than tea to warm him up inside. He set to work, pulling out a mixing bowl, measuring cup, milk, eggs, baking soda, flour, and a few other items. This was one recipe that he never needed the cook book for anymore, having done it so many times before at the Dursleys', as it was a favorite of Dudley's. 

Humming to himself, Harry settled into the trance that cooking now brought upon him. He'd never enjoyed cooking when with the Dursleys, and frequently found ways to avoid the bothersome job. However, when he was doing it by choice, rather than by force, it took on a somewhat comforting quality, and with familiar recipes like this one he found he could let his mind drift as his hands did the work for him. One time he'd brought the subject of his "trance cooking" up with Mrs. Whelton, and she had said that it sounded similar to what happened to musicians when they began to play a piece of music that they had memorized completely. When he had questioned her simile, she was forced into admitting that she had been a flautist when she was younger, and was eventually goaded into taking out her flute and playing for him. 

Now however, Harry was thinking about neither music nor Mrs. Whelton. Instead his mind had managed to wander onto the topic of Malfoy. Over the past few months, Harry had wondered more than once about why Malfoy would be living with Remus and Sirius, though he had always stopped short before asking the other man about it. At first he had simply chosen to ignore the question, and later on he decided that it was because the Malfoy of the world was so much different from the one that he had known. 

Only that wasn't true. On more than one occasion Harry had seen that there was very little difference between this Malfoy and the one he remembered. He was still proud, still went about everything with that aristocratic air that had always rubbed Harry the wrong way during their years together at Hogwarts. It rarely cracked like it had this morning when Malfoy had burst into Harry's room, almost frantic. 

The main differences were in the way Malfoy interacted with him – instead of being condescending towards Harry or even simply ignoring him, he made tentative overtures of friendship – and then there was Malfoy's admittance of having taken Muggle Studies while at Hogwarts. The Muggle Studies class alone indicated a very different person from the one that Harry had known, though he saw no other major indications. 

The sound of a door slamming shut in the workroom, jolted Harry out of his reverie, and for a moment he was on edge, ready to flee. Quiet hooting from the other room confirmed that it was just Malfoy returning with his owl, and Harry relaxed, turning his attention back to the pan in front of him. 

Stomping into the kitchen, Malfoy took off his cloak and leaned against the counter, massaging his temples. "Bloody bird nearly had a heart attack when I tried to bring him inside," he grumbled. 

Harry chuckled and shook his head, not looking up. "It's called 'karma', Malfoy," he said with delight. "Now go set the table, I'm nearly done here." 

Turning his attention to what Harry was doing, Malfoy frowned. "Why are you making breakfast?" 

Not expecting this question, Harry was caught off guard. Shrugging, he flipped over the pancake that was currently in the pan. "I wanted comfort food, I guess. I mean, it's not that I'm upset or anything – I rather like hail, in fact. But the reason I like hail is the fact that I can be inside where it's warm, reading a book and eating or drinking something hot while it's cold and wet outside." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Now you're going to say that I am 'seriously disturbed.'" 

Malfoy froze in the process of taking plates out of the cupboard, and slowly turned to look at Harry, his face emotionless, though his surprise was evident in his eyes. "How did you...?" 

Laughing again, Harry smiled at Malfoy, "It's what you said the first time I explained comfort food to you. If nothing else, you're still very predictable." Harry slid the pancake out of the pan and onto the growing stack next to him, still smiling as he watched Malfoy silently fume out of the corner of his eye. While Malfoy might be different in some ways in this world, he still had the same basic character. And Harry still knew exactly what buttons to push to drive him nuts. 

---

Laying back on the couch, his feet propped up on an armrest, Harry turned a page over in his book. It was one he hadn't read before, having checked it out from the library the previous day. So far it was proving to be incredibly interesting, involving time travel and possibly psychic powers, and so he was more than a bit annoyed when he was jerked out of his trance-like state by the uneasy feeling of being stared at. Letting the book fall to on his chest, Harry looked up and glared, "All right, you can't start getting on my case about reading any more, Malfoy, because you do it just as much as me now." 

Malfoy snorted and rolled his eyes, "I wasn't about to jump on your back, Evans, so stop worrying. Just thought you might be up for a friendly competition, that's all." 

This caused Harry to sit up in surprise, "Friendly competition? It's something that I'll find very painful, isn't it? Forget it, Malfoy, I'm not participating." 

"Nothing painful. Just a simple game of one-on-one Quidditch. You can use Remus' broom; it isn't great, but it's decent." For the first time, Harry noted that Malfoy was holding a broom in each hand. 

/Heaven preserve me from idiots and well-meaning fools,/ Harry thought. /Not that Malfoy's well-meaning, of course,/ he added hastily. "Malfoy," he ground out, "in case you hadn't noticed, I'm a Muggle. I can't fly a broom." 

The Slytherin smirked. Harry wanted to sock that smirk off his face, but he controlled himself. "Brooms are bewitched objects, Evans. They work for Muggles as well as they do for wizards, it's just that Muggles usually don't understand how to operate them. And, as for being a Muggle, well, according to Remus, you're only half Muggle. Your dad was James Potter." He said the name with awe and reverence that only served to annoy Harry further. 

"That's right, I'm the child of everyone's favorite Man Who Died," he said sarcastically. "Well, if you're sure I can use the broom, why not? Two players, one Snitch, right?" 

"Since we were both Seekers, that would seem the logical way to do it," Malfoy replied. "Come on, we can play in the meadow across the road." 

Setting his book down on the end table, Harry nodded and grabbed the broom that Malfoy offered him. It wasn't up to par with the brooms he'd had in the past, but Harry recognized it as a good broom. Pushing himself up from the couch, he followed Malfoy out the door, barely noticing the chilly air of mid December that surrounded him upon exiting the house. Mounting the borrowed broom, Harry was delighted to see that it responded to him as well as both of his old brooms had, though a bit slower. Grinning, he flew across the road, right behind Malfoy, eager to be back on a broom, doing what he did best. 

When he finally came to a stop, Harry was hovering opposite Malfoy, ten feet above the field. After reaching into his pocket, Malfoy produced a Golden Snitch, and tossed it between the two of them, signaling the start of the game. 

The Snitch didn't remain still for so much as a second, immediately whizzing away, disappearing to some other part of the meadow. Malfoy started after it, obviously determined to beat Harry. Even though it was supposed to be a friendly game, Harry supposed that Malfoy's pride would not allow him to loose to a Muggle – well, okay, half-Muggle. Harry himself made no move to follow Malfoy after the Snitch – he had learned long before that if the Snitch was chased straight away, it would fly either over or under you in an effort to extend the length of the game. One of the faults Harry had always found himself pointing out to Malfoy after their one-on-one games in the past was that he consistently went for the Snitch as soon as it was released. As if to illustrate his point on the uselessness of this action, a golden blur sped over Malfoy's head, shooting towards the road. 

Swinging his broom to the left and allowing his body to lean to the side as well, Harry followed in pursuit. As he flew, a part of him noted Malfoy's surprised look – the Slytherin had obviously not expected Harry to respond so quickly. Harry pondered this for a moment, dipping downwards as the Snitch attempted to duck under him, before realization dawned on him. /I have a huge advantage here,/ he thought numbly. /I've spent six years watching Malfoy play as a Seeker in the past, but he's never seen me play before. I know all his moves and techniques, but he knows none of mine./ 

Malfoy was flying towards him, about a meter or two above Harry's head. To Harry, it was obvious what the other man was attempting – he intended to trap the Snitch between himself and Harry, expecting Harry to fly upwards in order to prevent Malfoy from catching the ball. If Harry were to do this, he would effectively be herding it straight into Malfoy's hands. It would have been a very good plan were it not for one thing – Harry had much more than a passing acquaintance with the ways of the Snitch. Instead of flying at the Snitch itself, Harry executed a slow flip, flying around the Snitch entirely, causing him to fly straight at Malfoy, albeit upside-down. 

Ducking in order to avoid a head-on collision, Malfoy ended up flying towards the Snitch, causing the ball to swoop downwards, then zoom for the copse of trees on the far side of the meadow. Halting and turning, Malfoy sped after it. Swerving right and left, Harry followed at a slightly slower pace, simply enjoying the freedom of flight for the time being. He wasn't overly worried that Malfoy would catch the Snitch for the moment, knowing that the other man's direct approach had always been Malfoy's greatest weakness. 

Coming closer, Harry blinked in surprise as the Snitch suddenly shot upwards several meters, going so fast it was nearly invisible. Immediately, Harry changed his course, pulling upwards to parallel the Snitch's path. As he flew, he noticed that this move had the added benefit of throwing Malfoy completely off guard. This was understandable, as all Malfoy had seen of his flying up until this point had involved slow, cautious movements. Now, to all appearances, Harry was aggressively chasing after the tiny ball. 

Right before he caught up with the Snitch, Harry suddenly shifted his weight forward on his broom, toppling forwards – the next thing he knew, he was spiraling down towards the ground. Malfoy, unsure of what to expect, hesitated for a moment before continuing on his path to follow the Snitch. This moment of hesitation proved to be his undoing, as Harry took advantage of that moment and pull out of his spiral. Distracted as he was, Malfoy didn't notice that Harry had just pulled off the maneuver that he himself had been practicing nearly three months before. 

Turning to face towards the sky again in a long, drawn-out curve, Harry sped upwards. By choosing to use that move, he had caused himself to loose a great deal of distance, however he had also managed to increase his speed at least threefold. Hugging close to his broom in order to decrease drag, he shot up past Malfoy, who watched him go past in disbelief. Seeing that he was fast approaching the Snitch, Harry flung out his right hand, knowing that this time the Snitch would be unable to change its direction in time, as Harry was currently going faster that the Snitch itself. 

His hand hit cool metal, and Harry's fingers curled around the ball, safely securing it in his hand. Tumbling forwards, he fell into a hover, just sitting there high above the ground, staring at the Snitch in his hand in disbelief. He had been sure that he could beat Malfoy to it earlier, but now that he actually held it, the thought occurred to him that it shouldn't have been so easy. He hadn't flown for over a year – never flown at all in this body, in fact – he should be out of practice, but he wasn't. It was almost as if he had been born knowing how to fly a broom... 

Harry was jerked out of his reverie by the faint sounds of clapping from below. Still holding onto the Snitch, he leaned forward, flying slowly down towards the ground, wondering where the sound was coming from. As he neared the ground, he jerked back in surprise. There, where the meadow met the edge of the road, stood Sirius and Remus, both of them applauding. 

---

The moon hung swollen and pale in the blue-black of the clear night sky, only a few days away from being full. Sitting on the front porch, Harry stared at it, mulling over what both he and Malfoy had been told by Sirius and Remus when they had returned to the house after the one-on-one game with Malfoy four days before. 

/God... before the end of June? That soon?/ Harry sighed and took a sip from the glass of wine he held in one hand. According to intelligence from Dumbledore's network of opperatives, Voldemort was going to attempt a large scale attack on Hogwarts before the end of the school year. The idea, apparently, was that the school would be weaker at this time, since any defenders would also have to protect the students. And Dumbledore couldn't send the students home, since those that continued to attended the school did so because their parents felt it was safer at Hogwarts than at home – a sad but true fact, when it really came down to it. 

/But am I expected to do it all over again?/ Harry pondered, setting his glass on the stone porch. That was what was really bothering him. He wasn't sure whether it was really his fight in this case, as he wasn't even a part of the wizarding world, and, though they looked just like the people he had known, those threatened were not truly his friends. 

So here he was, sitting on the cold porch, staring up at the moon, with only a half-full glass of wine to keep him company. Sirius, Remus, and Malfoy were all inside doing familial things around the small Christmas tree Sirius had retrieved from the grove across the road. Harry knew that he was more than welcome to join them, as he had earlier for dinner, but if felt awkward and wrong, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't. 

Christmas with Mrs. Whelton and Alice the previous year hadn't been like this, and Harry suspected that his uneasiness came from the fact that while he knew the people inside the house, they had never truly known him. 

/And anyway, I never really spent Christmas with them when I was in school,/ Harry thought vaguely, reaching out to sketch patterns with his warm finger in the frost that covered the porch. This was true as well, Sirius and Remus were not a part of the Christmas tradition – well, there had been that one Christmas, in fifth year, but Harry generally tried not to think about fifth year – and as for Malfoy– Harry quickly clamped down on the thought before it could go any further. /Christmas was always for Ron and Hermione. And sometimes Ginny or the twins./ 

Leaving off on his decoration of Remus' porch, Harry picked up his glass again, slowly twirling the stem between his thumb and forefinger before downing what was left of his wine. He winced momentarily at the strong taste, then sighed. He'd become accustomed to the taste of wine from being dragged to church every Sunday with the Dursleys up until his first year at Hogwarts. Harry vaguely remembered that he had at first disliked the strong taste of the wine he'd received at Communion, however as he'd grown older, he'd also grown to like the bite that came with liquid, feeling that it balanced the bland taste of the bread perfectly. 

Wincing at the pinging noise the glass made as he set it back down on the porch, Harry shivered. What he really wanted to do was go inside and warm up, but this was something he just could not do, as that would mean that he would have to intrude on the happy Christmas scene. Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked through the large windows set into the front of the house. They radiated cheer and happiness, golden light spilling out onto the porch, though not reaching far enough to touch Harry. 

Malfoy and Remus were laughing at something Sirius had done, and the Animagus was hanging his head, pretending to be upset by their laughter, though Harry could see the twinkle in Sirius' eyes. Watching them, Harry wanted to be a part of that scene more than anything. He wanted to belong again, to be a part of the group instead of just the strange outsider who knew too much about things he shouldn't. 

Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet and picked up his glass one last time. Stretching, he descended the steps leading away from the porch, and circled around the house to the back door. Here he softly opened the door and stepped into the workroom. Quietly setting the glass down on the counter, he shut the door, then retreated into his room. 

Christmas was a silly holiday anyway. 

---

Was re-reading fics online, and finally figured out where I got a lot of my ideas for the filler scenes from... (It was subconcious, madamit! You can't come after me!) Dang, and here I was hoping that I was being original. I'm going to go mope now... (And no, I'm not going to tell you what fic it was, so there. Nyah.) 

Next chapter: a Man to Man talk; Y2K okay?; Harry breaks new ground; a couple of Malfoy's friends visit 


	8. Chapter 8: Lost

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Harry's Muggle friends belong to me (they probably aren't going to make any more appearances, though they may be mentioned). The sheep man doesn't belong to me, though. He is the creation of Rapunzel, and I'm eternally grateful that she lets me borrow him when I want to. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, so please don't sue me.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP, OOC Malfoy  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

Notes: _Shifting Realities_ is now Book 5 compliant! Yes, I sat down and, instead of working on this chapter like I was supposed to, went through and made a number of small changes in order to make this fanfic as canon as possible (which is a bit hard to do, considering that this is an AU). Many thanks to both Rapunzel and Blue Jeans for letting me use them as brainstormers for this chapter. It would have taken a _lot_ longer to finish this without you guys! Read their fics, you can find their links on my _Favorite Authors_ page : ) 

---

Chapter 8: Lost 

These tears we cry  
Are falling rain  
For all the lies  
You told us  
The hurt, the blame! 

And we will weep  
To be so alone  
We are lost!  
We can never go home 

– "Gollum's Song," from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Soundtrack 

"Hey," Sirius said quietly, as he stepped out from the small workroom, and onto the back porch where Harry was sitting. "Brrr... Aren't you cold out here? It's freezing!" Eyeing Harry's jacket, he drew own cloak tightly closed. 

Sitting on the top step and staring out at the fields beyond the back garden of the house, Harry shrugged. "It's not that bad. Malfoy put a warming charm on my coat back in November, so I'm actually a lot warmer than you'd think." Malfoy had insisted on doing it a few days after the hail storm, having seen the way that Harry shivered when he walked into town to visit the library. The friendly gesture had worried Harry, who had been unsure of what to make of Malfoy's ready helpfulness. Harry picked up the book that was sitting on the step next to him, making room for Sirius to sit down next to him, which the older man did. 

Fidgeting nervously on the cold stone porch, Sirius glanced at the squib next to him. "Well, it's nice to know that you two get on with each other well – you do, don't you?" he asked nervously, obviously unsure as to whether he was reading the body language between the two younger men correctly. 

"I guess we do," Harry said with a shrug. "I mean, I call him Malfoy, and he calls me Evans, so I guess you couldn't say that we're especially chummy. But I do lend him books, and when he doesn't help me cook, he usually washes the dishes so I don't have to. We're not friends, but I guess you couldn't call us enemies." He kicked at the snow that had settled on the lower steps the night before, watching as it flew out. The larger clumps made little craters in the snow at the bottom of the stairs, while the smaller pieces just skittered across the top. 

Sirius snorted, apparently amused by something Harry had said, though Harry wasn't sure what. "I couldn't call you enemies? Why on earth would you be enemies, you barely know each other." 

"We... I... I didn't get along that well with the Malfoy that I knew when I was at Hogwarts," Harry mumbled, turning up the collar of his coat. "I keep on expecting him to act the same way as 'my' Malfoy. The differences between your world and mine are confusing... most of them are just... well, little things, but some of the differences are huge," Harry blew on his hands some, then shoved them back into the pockets of his coat. "Like dead people being alive," he added, sneaking a look at Sirius. Whatever reaction he had been expecting from the other man, he didn't get it. 

"What do you mean, 'dead people being alive'? You sound like someone from a Muggle horror movie," Sirius laughed, clapping Harry on the back. 

"Well... I was talking to Remus about how Cedric Diggory died during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, and he said that Cedric hadn't died here, but had instead ended up winning the Tournament. He's not the only one either, there are other people as well," Harry explained. 

Sirius shivered slightly and watched as a few lone snowflakes drifted down out of the sky. "Like who? Anyone I would know?" he asked out of curiosity, smiling slightly. 

Jerking slightly as if startled, Harry shot Sirius a strange look. "I would... rather not talk about it if I could. Their deaths were... very upsetting to me," he said slowly. He joined Sirius in watching the snowflakes for a bit, then finally drew a deep breath and said what had been gnawing on his mind since Sirius had stepped outside to join him on the porch. "Why are you out here, Sirius? What do you want?" 

Sirius sighed guiltily, and turned to face Harry, "I can't fool you, can I? Draco said as much, earlier... Harry, about Voldemort..." 

Blinking, Harry glanced up at the man who was not his godfather. "What about Voldemort?" 

"Draco's going to be going to Hogwarts in May in order to help prepare for Voldemort when he comes. He's also going to join the fight against old Voldie." Sirius paused and ran a hand through his long black hair, upsetting the snowflakes that had settled on top of it and hadn't yet begun to melt. "You don't have to help us fight him, Harry. Remus and I talked to Dumbledore, and he agrees that it isn't your fight. You've already been through it once, and that was with the advantage of magic. It wouldn't be fair to you to make you fight in a battle that isn't yours." 

Harry was silent for a long while, thinking about what Sirius had just said. Strangely enough, Sirius' words echoed what Harry had been telling himself for the last few days. /"...it isn't your fight...", "...wouldn't be right...", "...a battle that isn't yours." I know I shouldn't have anything to do with it, that it doesn't involve me in any way. I wasn't even the one who killed Voldemort the first time in this world, that was my – Evans' – dad. Before Remus walked into the book shop last year, I – Evans – had had no contact what-so-ever with the wizarding world, excepting the fact that my – his – father was a wizard./ He knew the words, he'd told them to himself many many times recently. /But... at the same time.../ "Sirius, can I ask you a question?" 

"Sure, go ahead." 

"If you... If you were in the same position as me, would you fight? Or would you stay out of it all?" 

Standing up, Sirius brushed the snow off of his cloak and trousers. He stared down at Harry, thinking. "I don't want you to base your decision off of what I would do, but... If it were me, Harry, all these people... even if they didn't know me, had never met me before, I would do whatever I could to save them." He leaned against the porch railing, rubbing his eyes with an almost tired air. "God... I would give almost anything to have another chance to save James... And it seems to me that the people you care about, Harry, even if they don't know or care about you, are always worth fighting for." He turned, and stepped inside the house, lost in a swirl of the now quickly falling snow. 

Harry stayed on the porch, unmoving, for quite some time after the departure of the other man. Huddled on the porch, he thought about what Sirius had said, and he thought about the friends he had known during his time at Hogwarts, wondering if he felt as strongly about them as Sirius felt about James Potter. 

---

> _Alice, _
> 
> Happy New Year! Yeah, I know I'm late, but I was visiting with old friends over the holidays and I haven't had a chance until today to get around to catching up on my letter writing. Whoa... Can you believe it's a new millennium? It's so cool that this happened during my lifetime; so many people never get a chance to experience the change. So, did the Y2K cause any problems in with the computers at the library where you work? It almost did at the library over here – the librarians were running this way and that, and they had to have some special technician come out to work on it. It was horrible! They closed the library for an entire week, and I had to go about book deprived. 
> 
> I'm doing fine, but don't ask me to get into all the gory details about school and stuff – it would probably bore you to death. I spend a lot of my spare time reading fiction books, and get this! I've gotten the guy I'm rooming with hooked on hard-core fantas—

Whap! Harry jerked to the side as a ball of cold snow hit his shoulder, spraying snow all over the letter that he had been writing. He looked at the paper in dismay as he realized that when he'd moved from the shock of being hit by the snowball, it had caused his pen to scrawl across what he'd already written. "Dammit, Malfoy! You got snow all over my letter, and now it's melting and making all the ink run! Why did you _do_ that?!" 

"You need to loosen up some more, Evans. While it's nice to see that you're not hiding behind a book again, you should still do activities that actually involve movement," Malfoy drawled, right before hitting Harry with a second snowball. 

It hit Harry smack dab in the middle of his forehead; obviously Malfoy's aim was getting better. Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the snow that ended up in his hair when the snowball splattered across his forehead. Letting a growl crawl its way out of the back of his throat, Harry placed his pen and the remnants of his letter on the porch with a certain amount of precision. He then whiped away the snow melt still stuck to his face. Malfoy watched this entire display out of pure curiosity, obviously wondering how the squib intended to react to being beaned with a snowball. 

As it turned out, it had been a good thing that Malfoy had not turned away from the other man right away. Because he had been watching Harry, he knew to step out of the way at the right time, and thus miss the first snowball that Harry hurled at him. Of course, it did cause him to step into the direct path of the second missile, but never mind that. 

It did not take long for the snowball fight to expand into a battle of epic proportions, as each man scrabbled to get together a large enough quantity snowballs that they might have the advantage. In the end, Harry won, but only because he had the porch railings and the bushes in front of them to retreat behind when the going got tough, while Malfoy was out in the open, with no sort of shelter to speak of. Despite this unfair advantage, Malfoy did not protest when the battle finally ended; like Harry, he was tired, and his clothing was wet all the way through from being pelted with snowballs. 

Flushed and laughing, they stumbled into the house, shedding outer garments as they each made their ways to their respective rooms, intent on changing into dry clothing. Soon enough, Harry found himself curled up in the armchair next to the lounge fireplace, dressed in only his pajama bottoms and dressing gown, a mug of hot tea warming his hands. He felt surprisingly content, and as he took a sip from his mug, he looked across the room at Malfoy, who had donned an old Hogwarts robe and a pair of fuzzy green wool socks. Sitting on the couch, the wizard was ignoring his own mug, instead staring pensively into the dancing flames in the fireplace. 

"What's so interesting about the fire, Malfoy?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

"Hm? Oh, I was just thinking... It's been over five months since you moved in here, and you've... changed. When you first got here, you couldn't stand the sight of me, and now you teach me Quidditch moves, share your books with me, and let me pelt you with snow," said Malfoy, his mouth quirking into a strange smile as he took a sip of tea. 

"I didn't 'let' you pelt me with snowballs, Malfoy, you just started throwing them at me for no reason." Harry frowned for a moment, then pushed back his fringe so that he could see the other man more clearly. "And anyway, I won." 

"Well, if that's what you want to think, I'm not going to argue..." Malfoy trailed off, and nimbly dodged the cushion that Harry sent flying in his direction. He was quick to retaliate, and it soon devolved into a pillow fight of massive proportions, reminiscent of their earlier battle in the snow. When they at last lay on the oval rug that graced the floor of the lounge, each panting heavily, Malfoy grinned. "Of course, you're still too quick to take offense, Evans." 

Pushing away his sweat-soaked fringe, Harry glared at him. He wasn't even going to answer that one, he was tired enough that he was sure to lose. 

---

Much as he hated to admit it, it was time for him to get it over with, Harry decided. He had avoided the task for as long as possible, and had even considered forgetting the idea entirely, but then Malfoy off-handedly remarked that he was starting to look a bit like a bum. Now trudging along the road, Harry was a man with a mission. He was going to get his hair cut. 

Hermione had once told him, sometime during sixth year, that she thoroughly disliked getting her hair cut. She had it all reasoned out, and had explained to him, in great detail, exactly why she had a problem with it. "First I have to call the salón and make an appointment ahead of time. Then, when I show up at the salón, I'm told that oh, no, I never had an appointment, but they might just be able to fit me in if I'm willing to wait for a half an hour. Then, over an hour later, I finally get a stylist, who will inevitably speak only a small amount of English. And no matter how much I try to explain, or what pictures I show the stylist, I always end up with the same haircut, and it's _never_ the one that I want." 

At the time, Harry had been incredibly grateful for the fact that he wasn't female and didn't have to worry about his hair or about going to a salón to get his hair cut. Every summer, on August thirty-first, Aunt Petunia would sit him down on a stool in the middle of the kitchen, and cut his hair. She had long since decided that she wasn't going to waste any money on having his hair cut if it was just going to grow back the next day, and so every year she cut his hair right before he went off to school. He wasn't sure what the system had been in this world, but when he'd awakened on his eighteenth birthday in Harry Evans' body, he hadn't noticed any differences in his hair style – though it may have been slightly shorter than what he was used to. 

But since leaving the Dursley's, between the confusion at having been "forgotten" by the world in general, trying to make his own way in the world, and then finally being "discovered" by Remus, the idea hadn't even crossed his mind. So here he was now, walking along the side of the road and trying to decide how he wanted to get his hair cut, now that, for the first time in his life, he had a real say in the matter. 

By the time that he had walked into town, he was more than a little nervous. Hermione's words kept on coming back to him, and he was beginning to wonder whether he should have made an appointment in advance, or some such thing. Taking a few steps forward, Harry stopped, and looked around, a bit unsure of were to go next. 

"Evans!" a voice called out from his left, and Harry jerked around, surprised that anyone in the town knew his name. As he registered the identity of the speaker, he relaxed. "What brings you to town today?" 

Turning to face the man, Harry smiled. "Hi, Mr. Hering. I've decided that it's time for me to get my hair cut, sir. Can you point me towards a barbershop?" 

The old man frowned, and stroked his chin. "Let me see... I do believe there is just such an establishment on Third Street, half way between Prosper and Rose. I occasionally find that I myself need to visit it. So, how are you? And Malfoy, how's he doing? I haven't seen him recently." 

"I'm doing well. Malfoy caught a cold last week, but he's nearly over it now. How goes the war effort, sir?" Harry asked, as he took his bearings and tried to remember where, exactly, Third Street was. 

"Oh, good, very good. There has been progress! They are now selling lamb at the grocer's, and they have added mutton to the menu at that restaurant on Fifth Street. As we increase our consumption of sheep, they are oppressed more, and less likely to revolt," Mr. Hering explained with a decisive nod. "Well, it was nice to see you, Evans. You'll do your part, won't you?" 

"I'll make sure to stop at the store and pick up some lamb chops, once I'm done at the barber's," Harry promised, as he took his leave of "the sheep guy," as Malfoy referred to him. 

Harry walked down the road, finding Prosper, and eventually the barbershop on Third. He found, after looking at the different pictures of the hairstyles that he could try, that he was quite happy with the cut that he usually received, and wasn't ready to take that leap and try a new style. 

Later, as Harry walked up the road that led to the house, he noted that the front door was open, to his surprise. /Strange. Wonder why Malfoy left the door open.../ He shrugged and turned onto the path that led through the garden and climbed up the stairs. He had just begun to reach for the handle of the screen door, when voices from inside the house caused him to stop. 

"...wanted him to stay with Remus. He's out running errands and stuff right now." Harry blinked in surprise, wondering who Malfoy could be talking to. The Slytherin never contacted anyone using the fireplace in the lounge, and despite the Muggle appliances that were around the house, Remus had never equipped his home with a telephone. Which could only mean one thing – Malfoy had a visitor. And if Malfoy had a visitor, it could only be one of two people. /Crabbe or Goyle... God, I might've known they would show up one of these days./ Harry quietly set his bags of groceries down on the porch, and leaned forward to listen at the open door. If Malfoy was going to be talking about him to either of his Slytherin buddies, Harry wanted to know exactly what was said. 

"I don't know, Draco. This guy shows up out of nowhere, knows almost everything about what we did at Hogwarts, and you just believe everything he says about being from another world?" asked another voice, and Harry froze in disbelief. /I know that voice... I... No, it can't be–/ 

"Now, Ron, that's a bit harsh, don't you think? You've never even met this guy, and you're already putting him down," said a third voice. /...and that's Hermione,/ Harry thought. Strangely enough, it had never crossed his mind that he might run into either Ron or Hermione again, and now that he was faced with the possibility, he didn't know what to do, or how to feel. /But... why in the world are they visiting Malfoy? It doesn't make any sense.../ 

As he recalled Ron's harsh words against him, Harry's heart sank. He was familiar with Ron's quick judgment and inability to trust new people, but he hadn't ever been on the receiving end before. Even when they had their differences and weren't speaking to each other, like in fourth year, when Ron had been jealous because Harry had been chosen as a Triwizard champion, they had always joined together against outside threats. And now, he, Harry, was an outside threat. 

Harry missed whatever Malfoy said next, as he picked up his bags, and trudged around back, letting himself in through the workroom door. He purposely made some noise as he put away the groceries, and so he wasn't surprised to find Malfoy in the kitchen doorway when he turned to grab the lamb chops he'd bought. 

"Evans, you're back. Look, I'd like you to meet my friends – they were in the area and they decided to stop by. I didn't think you'd be back in time to see them. They're very interested in you, and–" 

Harry raised a hand, cutting Malfoy off. "I'm not interested in meeting Ron and Hermione, Malfoy," he ground out, his hand clenching around the paper wrapped package of chops. 

Malfoy blinked, obviously thrown off by Harry's reaction. "What–? How do you know who–" 

Using the pretense that he needed to put away the lamb chops, Harry turned away. "You never really believed Remus when he told you about me, did you Malfoy? I don't know why you're all chummy with Ron and Hermione, but where I come from... in my world... they're my friends, and I'm not that eager to be bad-mouthed by people who should be – would be – supporting me." 

There was a noise from behind Malfoy, and both men turned to see Hermione standing in the dinning room with Ron beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist. "Draco, is there something the matter? Isn't Evans going to talk to us? I'd love to hear his take on what he believes has happened to him; Remus' knowledge is wonderful in the classroom when it comes to dark arts defense, but I think he may be going out on a limb with this theory. And it would be interesting to hear his versions of our... well, escapades." 

Hearing Hermione call him "Evans" instead of "Harry" was the last straw. Throwing the chops down on the floor, Harry pushed Malfoy out of the way so that he could see the two Gryffindors more clearly. "It's all about making sure that you get the correct information with you, isn't it Hermione? When I called you over a year ago, you couldn't wait to hang up on me, now you want to know all about me. Well, I guess I should be grateful that you're not like Ron here, eager to jump at the chance that I might be the newest bad guy. What is it Ron, you finally realized that Snape isn't evil, so now you need a new scapegoat? No, you know what, I'm not going to talk to either of you about my 'peculiar situation' – hell, I don't think I can stand being in the same vicinity as both of you right now." 

This said, Harry spun around and marched away, through the workroom, and into his bedroom. Though he felt somewhat childish, he made sure to slam both the workroom door and his bedroom door behind him. It didn't do much to help with his current situation, but it did make him feel a little better. Still grumbling to himself, Harry flung himself on his bed, burying his head into his pillow, and trying to block out the faint murmurs of people talking that he heard from the rest of the house. 

The talking faded away, and he heard the faint clicking noise that the front door always made when it was shut. This was followed by footsteps that gradually grew louder, until they stopped right outside of hall door to his room. There was a somewhat reluctant knock on the door, and then Malfoy spoke. "Evans, are you all right?" 

/Yes, Malfoy, I'm perfectly fine. I enjoy throwing childish temper tantrums daily, shouldn't you know that by now?/ Harry thought angrily, trying to bury his face even deeper into his pillow. 

There was a sigh, and the doorknob turned as Malfoy entered the room. He picked his way carefully across the carpet, and finally seated himself at the foot of Harry's bed. Both men stayed there on the bed in silence for several minutes, before Harry at last succeeded in getting his mouth to work. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he croaked, and he winced at the hoarse sound of his own voice. 

Malfoy was obviously uncomfortable with the situation, but he bravely strove ahead anyway. "Ron and Hermione left. They thought it would be... better if they did. And they needed to get going anyway," Malfoy explained unnecessarily. Harry had already figured out that the others were gone, having gathered that much information from the lack of other voices and the sound of the front door closing. 

"You mean I scared them, and Hermione thought that a tactful retreat was in order, before Ron decided to take out his confusion on me," Harry supplied, his voice sounding better now, though it was still somewhat muffled by the pillow he continued to hold to his face. 

"Heh, I guess you're right. You have them both to a T." Malfoy sighed again, and ran a hand through his pale blonde hair. "Look, do you want to talk about it?" he asked at last. 

It was Harry's turn to sigh as he drew himself upwards on the bed until he was sitting next to Malfoy, leaning against the headboard. The pillow was gone from his face, though he now clutched it to his chest. "You know," he said quietly, carefully not facing the other man, "I never wondered who did all the things here that I did in my world. I never wondered who the hero figure of your world was. I mean, I knew that my – Evans' – dad died when he killed Voldemort, but I never even thought about who did all the other stuff, all the stuff that I did when I was at Hogwarts – like who stopped Quirrel from getting the Philosopher's Stone for Voldemort, or who killed the basilisk, or who tried to stop Voldemort from getting the prophecy from the Ministry of Magic..." Harry trailed off, his eyes, his mind, his entire body tired of everything that was happening to him. Finally he took a deep breath, and turned to look at Malfoy, his green eyes sad and mournful. "But I've been thinking about it, and I think I've figured it out. It was you, wasn't it?" 

Malfoy gave him a weak sort of half smile, and shrugged his shoulders, "Well, I don't know anything about a prophecy at the Ministry of Magic, but yeah, I killed the basilisk that was in the Chamber of Secrets, and I helped stop Quirrel and Voldemort from getting the Stone. Didn't the me in your world help you?" 

Harry let out a funny, bitter sort of laugh. "Help? You? Lord, _no_! You picked fights with me, tried to get me to fall off my broom, nearly got a hippogriff executed for no good reason, and helped spread rumors questioning my sanity. You made my life a living hell, and then–" Harry broke off as he realized that he was coming dangerously close to the subject he'd spent over two years trying to avoid. "Then you made it worse," he finished lamely. "What I don't understand is how you can be friends with Ron and Hermione, it doesn't make any sense." 

"Huh? Why doesn't it make any sense? ...and why would I – I mean, the me where you're from – do all those things to you?" 

"I don't know why you – he – did it, I just always figured that y... uh, he was a bastard who just didn't like me very much. As for why it doesn't make sense for you to be friends with Ron and Hermione, well, the Malfoy I knew was constantly insulting the ah, financial situation of Ron's family, among other things, and also took great pleasure in calling Hermione a mudblood. Not exactly what I would call best friend material," Harry explained. His temper had cooled and he was now trying very hard to be as diplomatic as possible. 

"He did _what_?!" Malfoy gasped in disgust. "Why that utter _bastard_! If I had him here I would wring his scrawny little – uh, I mean, I see your point," his cheeks flushed, Malfoy coughed nervously into his fist, obviously embarrassed by his outbreak. 

Tucking his legs up under himself, Harry turned so that his body faced Malfoy. "How did you meet them, anyway? It would be interesting to hear the story." 

"I actually ended up meeting Hermione first. I'd just gotten into a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, when she opened the door to compartment, wanting to know if she could sit in there. We got to talking about magical theory, and found that we had a lot in common," Malfoy explained, becoming more comfortable now that he was talking about something he knew well. "It wasn't long before Neville Longbottom – you know who he is, right? – came by with Ron, wanting to know if we'd seen his toad. That was the first time I saw Ron, though Hermione and I didn't become friends with him until later on, after we'd been at Hogwarts for a couple of weeks." 

Smiling, Malfoy leaned over to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think I can see where you're coming from, your being upset with them and all. If you heard anything of what Ron was saying about you, I can certainly understand why you blew up at him, and Hermione isn't the most tactful of people sometimes. If they started being suspicious or analytical with me, I think I'd do a lot more than just yell at them. It must have hurt a lot." 

"Yes... it did," Harry said quietly, looking down into his pillow. 

"Hey, cheer up. I'll tell you what, just to show you how much I am not like that prat who dares to call himself a Malfoy where you come from, I'll make dinner tonight _and_ wash up," Malfoy grinned, and slapped Harry on the back. 

"Oh no you don't. I am _not_ letting you cook – I have every intention of living to see tomorrow morning," Harry growled, pushing Malfoy away as he moved to get up off of the bed. 

"Sir, you have insulted by honor!" 

"Deal with it," Harry called out, smiling to himself as he went into the kitchen to get started on making dinner. He hummed to himself as he started to take out the necessary pots and pans, "I'll probably do it a lot more before you're rid of me." 

Malfoy laughed as he leaned against the door frame between the workroom and the kitchen, "I wouldn't have it any other way." 

---

I like Ron, I really do, but in the books he is quick to jump to conclusions about people who he doesn't know very much about. I guess it's one of his "tragic character flaws". Be happy, I haven't made him Evil!Ron : ) (Not that I would ever do that, he's much too cool and I like him too much.)  
Speaking of Ron, here's a thought: So, if Malfoy is the hero in this world, then the things that are the same are that the sidekicks are Hermione and... (dadada!) _Ron_. Ooo... it's the _Ron factor_!  
Man... it's too late... I need to get some sleep. And I need to stop watching Saturday morning cartoons, but nevermind that. 

Next chapter: Harry has a brainstorm; featuring Fawkes, the one and only; Things Happen. 


	9. Chapter 9: They Are Dead

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Harry's Muggle friends belong to me (they probably aren't going to make any more appearances, though they may be mentioned). As always, Mr. Hering is not mine, I'm just borrowing him from Rapunzel. I'm making absolutely no money off of this, so please don't sue me.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP, OOC Malfoy. M.E.'s mediocre attempts at fight scenes! _Run away! Run away!_  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 9: They Are Dead 

My hopes are like embers lying  
Around inside a firebed,  
And your mind is a firewalker.  
It steps on them like they are dead. 

– "Firewalker," Liz Phair 

A bag in each hand and a library book tucked under his right arm, Harry exited the grocer's. He started across the street, and had nearly reached the other side, when the curse hit. When Harry later considered what happened, he decided that he had really been quite lucky, as his attacker could have had much better aim. Instead, the entire length of his left arm went limp, the fingers of his left hand releasing their grip on the bag that they had held. Harry had no time to lament the loss of his groceries – that bag had held a carton of eggs, everything was sure to be ruined – he was too busy scuttling the rest of the way across the street. As soon as he reached the other side, he dove into the bushes that stood along the sidewalk. 

Crouching on damp earth behind the bushes, Harry carefully set down both his book and his remaining bag. He pushed a branch to the side with his good hand and leaned forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of his attacker. Before he could get a good look around, there was another flash of magic from down the street, and he flung himself backwards, barely avoiding the spell, which hit a tree that was standing behind him. 

Leaning back on his right elbow (his left arm refused to bend), Harry panted, his eyes wide. Yes, someone was definitely trying to attack him, and that someone was most definitely magical in nature. /But... I'm just a Muggle,/ thought Harry. /Who in the world would want to– Oh./ He blinked as he remembered the original reason for why he had come to live in Remus' house. /Voldemort. Well, that or Malfoy's finally dropped the act and decided to take me out, but for some strange reason, I find that hard to belie–/ 

Harry broke off this train of thought as the sounds of rustling leaves and soft cursing alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone behind the bushes. Though he hadn't thought it was possible, his heartbeat accelerated even more. He tried to move his legs, but found it impossible, and for one brief moment he thought that they had been hit by the same curse that had hit his left arm. 

"Are you all right?" a whispered voice asked. Harry started in surprise as he recognized the voice, and slowly turned his head to confirm the other's identity. 

"Ron?" he squeaked. 

"Evans? Man, I didn't know it was _you_. You're not going to yell at me again, are you? Because right now really wouldn't be a good time." Ron Weasley crawled forward until he was kneeling next to Harry. 

"I think I have bigger things to worry about right now," said Harry. He struggled to sit up, a task he found difficult with the use of only one hand. "What are you doing here? That wasn't you cursing me, was it?" Harry sincerely hoped it hadn't been. Despite his proclaimed disgust with Ron a few weeks before, he didn't think he would be able to handle it if Ron – any Ron, in any world – felt the need to take him out. 

"No, of course not. Tonks – my superior officer – has had me tailing this guy as a suspected Death Eater for the past week. I was probably just as surprised as you when he just started cursing you in broad daylight," said Ron. He sighed and ran a hand through is bright red hair. 

"Wait– Tonks is your superior officer? You're an Auror?" asked Harry, slightly surprised. 

Ron opened his mouth to reply to Harry's question, but he instead ended up saying something completely different. "Shit! Get down!" Ron threw himself at Harry, pushing him flat against the ground as a curse whizzed past above them, right at the height their heads had been at moments before. The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Ron rolled off of Harry and onto his stomach. "How about we leave the chit-chat for later, Evans. Since it appears that my suspected Death Eater is indeed what he seems, and he is also attacking at least one of us, I have a job to do." 

"Fine by me," Harry mumbled. He tried to turn over as well, as he couldn't see anything, lying on his back as he was, only to be reminded once again that he was handicapped. He struggled a bit before finally rolled over successfully. Using his right elbow to help him inch forward, he joined Ron in peering through the bushes. "Do you know where he is?" 

"Somewhere over there, between the grocery store and the dry-cleaning place," Ron waved vaguely in the direction of the mentioned storefronts. "Damn it, I know he's over there, but the only time I get any sort of shot at him is when he pokes an arm out in order to fling another curse over here. If he would just come out into the open... Ah! There we go." 

Harry watched with surprise as the Death Eater, resplendent in dark, well-cut robes – he'd obviously hadn't taken the precautions that Ron had to blend into his Muggle surroundings – stepped out of his well-concealed surroundings and into the middle of the street. 

Ron was about to do the same and abandon the bushes, when Harry grabbed the hem of the other man's jumper. "Don't be an idiot," Harry hissed, "if you get out there you'll be just as exposed as he is. If you stay here, he'll at least not know exactly where you are. You should know better!" 

Scowling at Harry, Ron nodded and sank back down to a kneeling position. He obviously didn't appreciate being told what to do by squib. One eye on the foolish Death Eater, Ron proceeded to cast a minor protective spell on Harry. It wouldn't really do anything other than give him a slight warning if a curse was traveling in his direction, but it was better than nothing. "He seems to mainly be using spells that will handicap but not hurt," Ron muttered, frowning. "Doesn't make sense... Why would a Death Eater purposefully try not to hurt someone?" 

"Because his aim is to capture, not to kill," said Harry. "They think I'm someone special, because Remus came to visit me in the bookstore, and then when they started watching the store, Dumbledore asked him to take take me in." 

"Really? But you don't know anything... well, not really. Well, then let's try something simple... Stupefy!" Ron cursed as the Death Eater managed to dodge the spell cast at him. 

Harry frowned. "He's going to be expecting 'stupefy' and similar spells. Try something simpler..." He wracked his brain for a moment, trying to remember the curses and hexes that he had used in school, but hadn't hadn't had any need to – or way to – use since. "Like furnunculus. It'll throw him off, and then you can follow it up with something slightly more complicated, maybe a binding charm or petrificus totalus." 

Ron stared skeptically at Harry, then sighed. "I can't believe I'm taking advice on wizard's dueling from a squib. Oh, all right." He obviously had to follow Harry's suggestion, moving a few feet down the bushes before flinging out a bat-bogie hex, and then following it up with petrificus totalus without so much as missing a beat. 

They both watched in awe as the Death Eater fell over stiff in the middle of the street. They were even more surprised when, from no more than five feet behind them, came the sound of applause. Ron whirled around, and Harry turned as well, though it he was a bit slower, still encumbered by his limp arm as he was. "Damn, Muggle witness. I hate having to do memory charms," Ron said as he stood, raising his wand. 

Harry struggled to sit up, catching Ron's arm. "Wait! You may not have to, let me talk to him first." With Ron's help, Harry was able to regain his feet, and he walked over to the Muggle standing there. 

"Ah, Evans! I thought it was you there, but I wasn't sure. Care to tell me what was going on?" The old man smiled brightly at both Harry and Ron. 

"Sure, Mr. Hering. First, let me introduce you to my friend Ron Weasley, a fellow fighter for the cause." Pushing Ron forward, Harry couldn't but grin at Ron's awkward handshake with Mr. Hering. 

"The cause? Ah! I might have known. Then that man in the street is indeed a spy, hm? I suspected as much, but I couldn't be sure," Mr. Hering nodded in understanding as he vigorously shook Ron's hand. 

"Yes, sir. It is a sad day when a man will sink so low as to sell out his own species," Harry sighed and shook his head sadly. 

Mr. Hering nodded, and said "It is indeed, it is indeed. Well. Good work, Weasley. A pleasure to have you on our side. Good day to you both, and don't forget!" His eyes acquired a manic gleam and stood up straighter, "They only look stupid!" He saluted to them both, which Harry returned, and walked away. 

Ron stared at Mr. Hering's retreating back, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out what, exactly had just happened. "The cause?" he squeaked. 

"Mr. Hering thinks that the sheep are going to take over the world. Other than that, he's perfectly sane, but you can blame just about anything on the sheep and he'll accept it," Harry explained. As he knelt to pick up his library book and what was left of his groceries, he glanced at the road. "Shouldn't you take care of the Death Eater before more people stumble across him?" 

Ron's eyes widened, he'd obviously forgotten about the petrified man in the road. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and he dashed off into the road, vaulting over the bushes. 

It wasn't until after Harry had heard the loud "pop" of displaced air that accompanied Ron's Disapparation with the Death Eater that it occurred to him that he should have asked the auror to fix his arm. It was hard to get a good grip on both his book and bag with only one working hand. 

---

Unable to either open the door or ring the doorbell, Harry resorted to kicking the door with his foot when he arrived back at Remus' house. It was, he decided, a good thing that the screen door had been propped open when he got there, or else he would have ended up kicking a hole through it. Something told him that Remus would not be happy about that. As it was, Malfoy opened the door so quickly that Harry nearly kicked him in the shins. 

Malfoy glared at him. "Don't you have a key, Evans? Or is this just an excuse to try and kick me?" 

Harry glared at him. "Ha, ha. Sorry, my hand's full, and I can't use my left arm. I forgot to ask Ron to perform the counter-curse before he left." He smirked at the look of surprise he saw on Malfoy's face as he brushed past him and into the house. 

"Ron? Counter-curse? What in the world are you talking about, Evans?" Malfoy asked as he followed Harry into the kitchen, relieving him of his book. 

Awkwardly putting his bag of groceries down on the counter, Harry proceeded to relate all that had happened to him after leaving the grocery store. By the time he was done, Malfoy had his wand in hand and was studying Harry's left arm with interest. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Evans, I don't think Ron could have fixed your arm for you. It looks like that curse went and took out all the bones in your arm and hand. There's no cure for that except regrowing them." 

Harry did not appreciate hearing this. "Good lord, not _again_." 

Letting go of Harry's arm, Malfoy quirked an eyebrow. "Again? Don't tell me that you loose bones on a regular basis, Evans." 

"I've only had it happen once before, Malfoy, so it doesn't happen to me all the time. Stupid Lockhart accidentally went and removed all the bones in my arm in second year when he tried to mend a broken bone," said Harry, looking forlornly down at his useless arm. 

"You are insane then, letting that idiot Lockhart try to fix a broken bone," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "My opinion of you has just hit an all-time low, Evans." 

"I didn't 'let' him try, Malfoy. He just did it before I could stop him – _I_ kept on insisting that he leave it to Madam Pomfrey." 

"Yes, he was rather forceful, wasn't he," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "Anyway, we should probably see about you regrowing those arm bones. You're lucky enough as it is though, you were only hit by one curse." 

"I'm not an idiot, Malfoy," Harry growled. "I know what to do when someone starts attacking me. Don't know what I would've done if Ron hadn't been there, though. I'm in no situation to fight a duel with a Death Eater." Harry gave up on trying to put the groceries away, and leaned against the counter. 

"I can't believe the two of you took out a Death Eater with a couple of elementary level spells," Malfoy said. 

Harry grinned, "It's like you said, Malfoy. Elementary. No one expects to be hit with simple spells from first year when they're fighting an experienced wizard. Since they don't expect them, they also don't think to protect against them." He tried to move his arm, and was once again rewarded with no response. "What are we going to do about this?" he asked, gesturing to the arm. 

Letting out a tired sigh, Malfoy rubbed his forehead. "Well, you could go to St. Mungo's, but then you'd have to deal with the whole thing of your being totally unknown in the wizarding world and looking almost exactly like James Potter... Or you could go to Hogwarts and have Madam Pomfrey look you over. I was going to leave in a couple of days in order to go there anyway. And after your having been attacked, Remus and Dumbledore aren't going to be happy with me if I just leave you here alone. But if you go to Hogwarts, you'll be there in the middle of the battle. Your choice," Malfoy spread out his arms. 

/I'd rather go to Hogwarts,/ Harry realized as he thought back to when he had visited St. Mungo's during his fifth year. /But if I'm there for the battle, I won't be able to do anything. I'll have to just sit there while everyone else helps out. I don't know if I could stand that.../ Harry was about to cast his vote for St. Mungo's, when he suddenly remembered the fight that had occurred earlier that day, and how, even without magic, he had been able to help Ron take down the Death Eater. He gave a faint smile. "Well, if I'm going to Hogwarts, you have to help me pack. I can't very well do it with only one hand." 

---

Two Gryffindor girls, both carrying bookbags, raced down the corridor, their robes whipping out behind them as they ran. Harry took a step backwards through the entrance, and just missing colliding with a third student. Standing next to Malfoy and framed by the large double doors that formed the entrance of Hogwarts, Harry watched the retreating form of the Hufflepuff boy he had narrowly missed walking into, and smiled. The last time he had been at Hogwarts, the summer holidays had been in session, and the school had been nearly empty. Now it was full of life, as evidenced by the students running past him, most likely late for class. 

"What are you so happy about, Evans?" Malfoy snapped. Harry supposed that Malfoy was ticked off because he had to carry both of their bags, since Harry had only one working arm. 

"Nothing," Harry replied with a grin. He wasn't going to try to explain why he was so glad to be back at Hogwarts. Chances were that Malfoy wouldn't be able to understand at all. 

"Come on," Malfoy huffed, "let's get you to Madam Pomfrey so she can do something about that arm of yours." 

"Can't wait to get rid of me, can you, Malfoy?" 

"Believe it or not, it's in your best interests to get those bones regrown as soon as possible," Malfoy said matter of factly. "If you wait to long, it might not work, and you'll be stuck with a limp noodle for an arm for the rest of your life." Malfoy started up the stairs, and Harry hastened to follow him. For several minutes they remained silent, navigating the numerous changing staircases of Hogwarts taking most of their concentration. 

At last they reached the entrance to the hospital wing. Panting slightly from keeping up Malfoy, Harry followed the other man through the doors. 

"Malfoy, what are you doing here? I thought I told I specifically didn't want to see you in this room again," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed in a warm voice. 

Setting down the suitcases he had been carrying, Malfoy smirked slightly at the witch, "I haven't done anything this time, so you can get off my back right now. This was all Evans fault." 

Frowning, Madam Pomfrey glanced around, obviously trying to figure out who Malfoy was talking about. Sighing, Harry stepped forward, and out from behind Malfoy. Madam Pomfrey's eyes grew wide with surprise. "Oh, my... You must be Harry, James Potter's boy. Remus has told me so much about you, dear. You look just like your father." 

For some reason he couldn't understand, Harry felt himself flushing with embarrassment. He mumbled proper greetings to the mediwitch with the same confusion that always seemed to overtake him when he met someone in this world who he knew, but who didn't know him. 

Madam Pomfrey gave him a severe look. "Now, what seems to be the problem?" 

"Um, well... I just walking along, when someone hit me with a curse, and now I can't use my left arm," Harry explained, gesturing to the useless limb with his good hand. "Malfoy says the bones are all gone." 

"Oh, my!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth. She immediately took hold of Harry's shoulders and ushered him over to an empty bed. "You poor thing... You just lie down and let me have a look at you." 

A bit overwhelmed, Harry nodded and, after slipping off his trainers, lay down on the bed. "It's not that bad," he insisted, a bit embarrassed by her fussing,. 

Her wand in hand, Madam Pomfrey frowned as she passed it above his body, murmuring to herself. "Nonsense, my dear. It appears that Mr. Malfoy was indeed correct, and regrowing bones is never something to take lightly, however easy it may be to remedy." Tucking her wand away, she straightened and turned to Malfoy, "And speaking of you, young man, I do believe that Professor Lupin would very much like to know that you are here, so you get along now." She fluttered her hands at Malfoy, making shooing motions, then started towards the infirmary storage room, "I'm going to get the bottle of Skele-Gro for Mr. Evans, here." 

Malfoy moved towards the door, then turned back to Harry, "I'll leave your suitcase here in case you want anything from it, Evans. See you later." Grabbing his own case, he stepped out the door. 

Harry was about call out a goodbye to Malfoy – he wasn't sure why, but it seemed appropriate – when a steaming beaker was shoved under his nose. "Drink. Then, if you have any pajamas in that suitcase, you might want to change into them. You'll be here all night," Madam Pomfrey said with authority. Harry grimaced, but swallowed the liquid. It definitely had not improved in taste since his second year. 

---

"...no, Harry!" 

Harry awoke with a start, and glanced around, startled. Not recognizing his surroundings at first, he was momentarily stumped as to where he could be. Flowered curtains hung around him, blocking his view of the rest of what appeared to be a large room. The room was lit with the pale light of early morning. His memory eventually caught up with him, as he remembered that he was lying in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. This established, he tried to remember what had awakened him. /I thought I heard my name.../ 

Sitting up, he tested his left arm. To his relief, he was able to move it around, bend it, and wiggle his fingers as well. Having confirmed this, he leaned forward and pulled aside one of the curtains, peeking out. The rest of the hospital wing was empty, with the exception of a girl in a bed across the room from his own. Dressed in clean robes, the girl was sitting on the bed, apparently playing with a stuffed bear, a handful of chocolate biscuits, and a plastic cocktail sword. 

"Yaaah! So, Evil Villain, you think you can terrorize small, innocent cookies?! You are no match for _me_, the wondrous Harry! As long as there is evil, I will rise up to smack it down! With this almighty Toothpick of Doom, Harry the Wonder Bear shall smite you! RAAH!" the student continued, this time using a much deeper voice. She walked the bear across the bed, holding the plastic sword to the bear's paw with one hand, while snitching biscuits with the other. 

As Harry watched, Madam Pomfrey entered the room, and came over to stand in front of the girl. The mediwitch pointedly cleared her throat, and the student quickly put down her toys – not before popping another biscuit into her mouth, however. "Well. It appears that your toes have been successfully reattached to your feet, and your eyebrows are none the worse for wear. I do hope you'll be more careful in the future. It would probably help if you stopped experimenting with spells you don't understand..." 

Swallowing her mouthful of biscuit, the girl adopted a look of absolute innocence. "But I was just trying to transfigure my yo-yo into an owl, Madam Pomfrey..." 

"I suppose I should just be thankful that you didn't charm someone else's toes onto your eyebrows," Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Now, off to the breakfast with you. I don't want to see you back here for at least another week," she chastised. 

"Yes, ma'am." Madam Pomfrey watched as the girl grabbed her things and scurried out of the room, then turned to face Harry. 

"I see you're up and about, Mr. Evans. Have a nice sleep?" Not waiting for his reply, she pulled aside the curtains hiding Harry's bed from the rest of the room. She waved at him to lie down, and proceeded to run her wand along above him as she had the day before. "Ah, I see your arm is all healed. Well, just to be sure, I want you to stay here under my observation for the rest of the morning, if that's all right with you, dear?" 

"Oh, um. I mean, yes, that's perfectly fine with me," Harry replied, a bit at a loss for words. 

"Good, now, I'll just be in my office if you need anything. The house elves should be along with some breakfast for you in a little while, I'm sure." With a parting smile, she whirled away and through a door at the far side of the room. 

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Harry leaned over the side of the bed and pulled his suitcase closer, intending to take out the book he was currently reading. It was just as well that he was staying in the hospital wing. While he knew his way about the castle, he had no idea where, exactly, he was expected to be. 

---

There was a knocking on the open door, and Harry looked up from where he was sitting to see Hermione standing in the doorway. Closing his book, Harry tried to muster up a smile for the woman who was not, no matter how much he wanted it, his friend. Harry had been aware of the fact that both Hermione and Ron were at Hogwarts, though he had attempted to either ignore or forget about it. Malfoy had, in fact, told him the day before. It was not that Harry was exactly _trying_ to ignore either Ron or Hermione, it was more like he was unintentionally avoiding them. At least, that was what he told himself. 

Now, as he made eye contact with Hermione, he felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. Somehow, he and Ron had reached a sort of unspoken truce as a result of their efforts in subduing the Death Eater nearly a month before. "Yes?" he asked Hermione, trying hard to keep his uncertainty out of his voice. 

Rubbing her forehead, Hermione stepped into the room. It was actually the sitting room for Remus' apartments here at Hogwarts, but while Harry and Malfoy were there, it was serving as the boys' bedroom. "Can we talk? I just feel like we really got off on the wrong foot, and I'd like to remedy that," Hermione explained. Observing the exhaustion in her actions, Harry indicated that she should sit down, and she gratefully collapsed into an armchair across from Harry. 

"Sure, I don't mind. It's not like I have anything I should be doing." Harry winced as his words came out a bit more venomous than he'd intended. Though he knew it shouldn't, it somehow irked him that he was just sitting around, while Voldemort was out there hurting and killing people. At Remus' house, he had been able to forget about Voldemort entirely, but here at Hogwarts it was entirely different. The students he had seen running through the hall on the day that he arrived were the exception more than the rule. The atmosphere about the school was tense, and with the exception of some of the very youngest students, everyone moved about the castle with a dark cloud hanging about them, almost as if they were waiting for the axe to fall. 

Hermione laughed at his words, "I know exactly how you feel. When I was back in school, so much of the time I felt helpless. Draco and Ron were always the ones to take the initiative. Ron was the strategist, Draco was the one who would implement the plan... all I could ever do was research whatever they were up against. They did the heroics, I was always left behind with the books." She sighed and shook her head. 

Staring at her, Harry was surprised. It had never occurred to him that Hermione might feel useless in her unnamed position as the researcher. Whenever Harry or Ron had had a question, they would just turn to Hermione, and she would have the answer for them, if not then, then in a couple of days. He had never wondered about what she must have gone through to learn all of that knowledge. 

Putting his book on the end table, Harry leaned forward to put a hand on her lap. "You weren't just a researcher, Hermione. You did all types of different things! You stopped Quirrell from cursing my broom in first year, figured out that it was a basilisk in the Chamber in second... In fourth you not only were able to deduce that Rita Skeeter was an illegal Animagus, you also managed to capture her and prevent her from writing more of those awful stories! You were the one who came up with the idea for the DA, and I'm not even sure I could have made it through sixth year without you. I don't know about here, but where I come from, I don't think Ron and I would be able to do anything without you. Ron may be good at strategy, and I occasionally stumble across a really stupid idea, but you're the backbone, the support. No one can win anything if they don't have someone to support them." It felt so strange, comforting this woman who didn't even know him – but at the same time, it felt so _right_. 

"Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" 

Hermione sniffed a couple of times, then looked up at him with a brilliant smile. "Thank you, I really needed that. Sometimes... I guess sometimes I just forget." She wiped away her tears and tried to compose herself. "I wanted to ask you about your world. I really am curious as to what the difference are between what happened to you and what happened to us. Some things I dying to find out how you were able to make do without some of the things that we had... like how you got into the Chamber of Secrets. I mean, we had this ancient English-Parseltongue dictionary that Draco found shoved away on a bookshelf in the Slytherin common room. From what I understand, you aren't friends with Draco at all in your world, so you wouldn't have had access to that." 

Harry laughed. "Strangely enough, that's one of the many things I couldn't figure out about _this_ world. So you had a dictionary, eh? I didn't know something like that even existed. No, I didn't have anything that fancy. I just did it the old fashioned way –ÊI'm a Parselmouth, see." He tried to think of a way to explain how he had ended up being something so rare, without having to explain the whole story of Voldemort and Professor Trelawney's prophecy, but finally decided to give the simplest explanation. "It's because of an accident that happened when I was still just a baby." 

"A Parselmouth, imagine that. Now, the other thing I can't understand is how both you and Cedric Diggory became Hogwarts' champions in the Tri Wizard Tournament. Draco tried to explain it to me, but I'm afraid that it all just went over–" 

There was a sudden shout followed by a piercing scream from outside, and both of them froze. After a couple of moments, the scream cut off suddenly, leaving only silence. It took Hermione no time at all to rush to the window, fling it open, and look out at the lawn below. Harry was right behind her, and as his eyes focused upon what was occurring below him, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with his uneasiness around Hermione. 

Outside, a student lay still and unmoving upon the grass. Standing above the still form was a line of figures clad in black, and behind them another row, and another and another. And behind all the rows, a single figure, this one wearing white, ironically enough. 

It was what they had been waiting for, what they feared though they knew it must come. 

Voldermort. 

It did not take long for Hermione to process what she saw and begin breathing again. "I– I'm sorry, Evans, but– I have to go– I have to... I have to..." Her hands clenched tightly at the windowsill, almost turning white. Harry sighed and stepped away from her. 

"I know, go on. Don't worry about me, I'll be perfectly fine up here. Good luck." 

"Thanks, I have this awful feeling that I might need it," she said with a feeble grin before she rushed out the door. Staring after her, Harry stood in silence for a minute before turning back to the open window. 

He knew that he should close the window, or at least step away from it. As it was, he was placing himself in a position possibly be cursed, but he couldn't help it. He had to see what happened, how it would turn out. Harry had never known the outcome of the battle that was the equivalent of this one in his own world, and it was his constant fear that Voldemort had won it. 

Looking down, he watched as professors ran out from the doors of the school, their wands at the ready. They were joined by members of the Order of the Phoenix and all of the others who had been slowly trickling into Hogwarts over the past month. Harry spotted Ron, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Sirius in his Animagus form. There were even a few uniformly black robed figures who Harry assumed could be nothing other than seventh year students. As he watched, the initial clash quickly developed into a full-fledge battle, within which there were several smaller skirmishes. 

Fred and George were attacking Dementors, their identical Patronuses charging forward. Hermione rushed out of the castle and immediately engaged the first Death Eater she came too. Professor Sprout was conducting the decorative plants planted around the entrance in a uniformed attack – the rose bushes appeared to be particularly vicious. His eyes traveling across the lawn, Harry spotted a familiar figure brilliantly fighting a Death Eater, but for some reason he could not place a name on the man. Suddenly his heart lurched and his mouth went dry. The man was none other than Cedric Diggory. 

And there, in the midst of it all, Harry saw Malfoy slowly working his way through the churning mass towards where Dumbledore was engaged with Voldemort. 

Right then, a curse that had been cast too wide came hurtling towards Harry's window, barely missing him as he tumbled out of the way. Obviously, it was getting a bit too dangerous to be watching from his rather exposed place at the window. Harry began to crawl towards the window, intent on closing it, when another curse came through, blasting the chair he had been sitting in earlier to pieces. Harry decided to take this as a sign that it would be a lot safer for him to leave the window and simply make for the door. 

Another curse hit the door right as he was slamming it behind him, and Harry rushed down the corridor. The interior of the school was eerily silent, as one of the first actions of the Hogwarts' staff had been to herd all of the students to the safer location of the lower levels of the school. It would be, Harry thought, a good place for him as well. Running down the corridor, he again had the guilty feeling that he was running in the wrong direction. Much as he wanted to go out and help the fighters, he knew that he would be next to useless. 

As he ran down the steps and onto another floor, Harry found himself having to navigate a number of different objects which had students had been forced to abandon in the mad rush to basements. Harry leapt over fallen stack of books, only to land on something on the other side, losing his balance. Tumbling to the side, Harry rose to his feet and turned back to glare at the cause of his fall. 

A stuffed bear sat innocently in the middle of the corridor, just past the fallen books. Harry stared at it for a moment, and slowly grinned as something occurred to him. It was a wild idea, he knew, but it might just work. Feeling better than he had since Hermione had rushed out of the room, Harry took off down the hall again, but this time he was not headed for the next descending staircase. He had a much better idea than hiding. 

---

It took him a while to get in. Harry went through every wizard sweet he could think of, as well as a few Muggle ones. Finally he simply sighed in exasperation, and leaned against the wall. "I suppose," he said conversationally to the gargoyle, "that it would be too simple for it to be sherbet lemon again." 

To his surprise, the gargoyle jumped to the side, and the wall broke apart. "He would go back to old passwords just to confuse me," Harry grumbled as he rose up to the door that led to the headmaster's office. Fawkes trilled at him as he entered the office, and Harry regretted that he didn't have any time to visit with the phoenix. He turned away from the phoenix and searched for the shelf where he remembered the Sorting Hat being kept. 

"Who're you?" growled the voice of the hat as soon as Harry had it settled on his head. Harry let out a relieved sigh. That had been one of the largest holes in this plan – he hadn't been sure as to whether the hat would acknowledge squibs. 

"Harry Potter," he replied, without thinking. He bit his lip, suddenly nervous. /This has to work,/ he thought desperately. /Please– help me–/ He opened his mouth to ask his question, when something beaned him on the head. "Ow!" 

"Where did that come from?" the hat wondered, true confusion in its voice. "Didn't know I had it in me." 

"Well," Harry said with a grin, "I knew, if it's any consolation. Thanks for the loan!" He pulled off the hat, careful to return it to its spot on the shelf, extracting the sword from inside it. Grasping it in his hand, he dashed out of the room. Behind him, he heard the hat chastising him not to run with sharp objects. 

It didn't take Harry nearly as long as he thought it would to make it out to the lawn. Once there, he sprinted across the grass, headed to where he had last seen Voldemort and Dumbledore fighting. Curses and hexes whizzed past him, though none of them seemed to hit him, to his surprise. It was beyond comprehension, though Harry supposed that the sword might be turning them away from him. If that was indeed the reason, he was more than grateful for the helping hand. 

He pushed his way through the fighters, and came out in a clear spot. Wiping the nervous sweat from his eyes, he was surprised to see that he was on the Quidditch pitch, though he hadn't thought he'd run that far already. Bodies lay on the ground around Harry, and up ahead he saw a single figure staring dispassionately down at a body lying next to it. The standing figure was, as Harry had somehow known it would be, Voldemort. He had not expected to see the body on the ground, however, and as he recognized the long white beard that trailed across the grass, something inside of him broke. 

Placing the sword of Godric Gryffindor in front of him, Harry charged forward. His surroundings blurred into nothingness, and he took no notice of the words of a the spell that someone nearby was calling out. He did not see Malfoy's shocked face as Voldemort stepped out of the path of the killing curse that the young wizard had just flung, placing Harry in the direct path of the curse. Harry did not notice as the green light hit the sword straight on, crackling twisting around the blade. 

For Harry, only Voldemort existed. He plunged forward, and the sword bearing the killing curse passed through the white robes, hitting home. Then Voldemort was falling backwards and away from Harry, the sword still embedded in his chest. 

Dimly, Harry was aware of a unearthly song somewhere as he sank to the ground. But he somehow couldn't make himself open his eyes to see where it was coming from, couldn't make himself care. The song faded away, and for Harry there was only blackness. 

---

Another longer-than-normal chapter. The muse bit, causing this to sort of... ran away from me. To make up for this one, the next one will probably be shorter than most. 

Next chapter: Return of the flowered curtains; Neville makes an astute observation; Harry and Malfoy have A Talk. 


	10. Chapter 10: Have To Go

Shifting Realities 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Harry's Muggle friends belong to me (they probably aren't going to make any more appearances, though they may be mentioned). I'm making absolutely no money off of this, so please don't sue me.  
Warnings: AU, spoilers for SS/PS through OtoP, mentions of OOC Malfoy.  
/.../ denotes thoughts 

---

Chapter 10: Have To Go 

Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go  
My world was not yours, your eyes told me so  
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time  
And I wondered why. 

– "The Old Ways," Loreena McKennitt 

He moved to turn over in his sleep, only to have his arm yanked back. Prying an eye open, Harry squinted at the bright light of the room, and tried to take in his surroundings. Everything was blurry, and for a moment he was afraid that could no longer see. Then he realized that he wasn't wearing his glasses, and he started to push himself into a sitting position so that he could find them. Only his arms felt terribly weak, not even strong enough push his body up more than an inch above the bed, before he collapsed back onto it. 

Turning his head, he saw through the fuzziness that the thing that had originally yanked his arm back was a long IV tube, running from his arm up to a bottle suspended on a pole next to the bed. Looking out farther, he observed the flowery curtains that surrounded the bed. Taking all of this in, Harry thought for a moment that he must be in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. But no, he decided, that couldn't be right – he had seen the pattern of flowers on the curtains at Hogwarts only a month before, and these curtains bore entirely different flowers. 

The wrist of the arm without the IV had what looked like a hospital band around it, and when Harry turned his head to the side away from the pole, he saw a ream of parchment hanging in front of the wall, a quill suspended in front of it, jotting down constant notes which Harry supposed must be his vital signs. 

On a small table next to his bed were several vases of flowers, as well as a few cards. Harry stared at them, and wondered how he had been injured in the battle, for surely that was what had happened, as the last thing he remembered was putting the sword from the Sorting Hat through Voldemort's chest. There was also a vague memory of an eerie song, though Harry was not sure if he had truly heard it. 

An almost bark-like shout, followed by loud giggling sounded from the rest of the room which was hidden from view by the curtain. There was a shushing sound, and then the quick pace of someone walking across the tiled floor. Harry watched as the curtain was pulled to the side, and a motherly witch wearing a green robe walked through, holding another bottle of IV fluids in her hand. She seemed to ignore Harry completely, focusing instead on changing taking down the empty IV bottle. Harry immediately jumped on her as someone who might be able to answer all the questions bouncing around inside his head. 

"Excuse me," he asked politely, somewhat shocked by the harsh, disused sound his voice made. "Can you tell me where I am exactly?" 

The witch started forward, her head swinging about to stare at him with wide eyes. She let out a startled squeak, dropped the empty bottle on the floor with a crash, and ran through the curtains, yelling for someone to come help her. 

Harry was confused. He could not understand why the witch – who he now assumed had been a Healer –Êhad run away from him like that. As near as he could figure, she had not expected to find him awake, which was strange. She had pushed away curtains around his bed in her effort to run away, and so Harry left the mystery of the startled Healer for later as he took in what was beyond the curtains. 

There where several other beds in the room, several of them occupied. Taking this in, Harry was surprised to find that he recognized some of the occupants of the other beds, though he could not remember when he might have possibly been in the room before. 

It was not long before the Healer that had run away earlier returned, trotting to keep up with an older, drawn wizard in equally green robes. The older Healer was talking to the younger Healer, obviously annoyed at having been called. "Really, Miriam, I hardly think that after two years a patient would just go and–" The wizard broke off as he saw Harry. Harry felt the intense urge to wave to the Healer, but quickly quelled it, unsure as to whether either of his arms was up to the duty. "Oh, my," said the older wizard, obviously in shock. 

"Good morning," Harry croaked, "could you please tell me where I am?" 

"I told you he was awake," Miriam said, somewhat petulantly. 

"I... Good morning, Mr. Potter. You are in the Janis Thickey ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am Healer Bloom, this is my associate, Healer Strout," the older Healer said with a stiff and formal voice, apparently he had adapted to the new situation, and was no longer in shock. 

/That's why this looks familiar,/ Harry thought. /It's that long-term ward that we ended up in at St. Mungo's at Christmas in fifth year.../ Which brought up a very good question, Harry decided. "Why I am in a ward for long-term patients?" he asked, a bit worried. 

"You've been in a coma," Miriam – Healer Strout – said brightly. "For over two years. It's very exciting that you're awake again." She smiled brightly, and Harry recalled that she was the same witch that had been in the ward when he was last there. 

Bloom glared at his associate, then spoke Harry, "You were apparently injured in the Battle for Hogwarts. You were found lying on the ground afterwards, unconscious, and eventually you were brought here," he explained. 

Harry blinked, then asked hopefully, "Oh. Um, I don't suppose I could leave now that I'm awake?" 

"Eventually, you should be able to go home. However, after not being used for two years, your muscles have atrophied and you will have to go through physical therapy before you will be able to use most of your limbs to any great extent." 

"Um, okay. Are my glasses anywhere around here? The blurriness is starting to give me an headache," Harry said. He was glad to have a reason for why his arms seemed so weak, though he did not know if he liked the sound of having to go through physical therapy. 

Reaching into a drawer that was part of the bedside table, Bloom extracted a glasses case, which he handed to Strout, and a large manila folder. Strout opened the case, took out Harry's glasses, and perched them on Harry's nose with a beaming smile. Bloom flipped the folder open, and ran his finger down a sheet of paper inside, then glanced up at Harry. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see about contacting your family and letting them know that you have awakened." 

Before Harry could protest, Bloom was out the door, and Strout had moved on to another patient, though she kept glancing back at him and smiling. Closing his eyes, Harry felt a headache coming on that nothing to do with his not wearing his glasses earlier. The Dursleys were the last people that Harry wanted to see right now, but apparently he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. He was almost starting to wish that he hadn't woken up from his coma or whatever it had been. 

---

The next day, Harry was moved out of the Janis Thickey ward and into a different ward for people recovering from spell damage. There was a grimy window next to his bed through which the sun shone, weakly illuminating the room. In addition to him, there were three other people in the room, a small boy in the bed next to him was staring at his newly regrown feet with wonder, poking the soft, new flesh with his fingers and laughing. Across the room from Harry was an old man who had a bare line shaved all around his head. The man was holding what looked like the remains of a bowler hat, and glaring at them. Next to the man was a girl, no older than fifteen, who scowled as she pulled feathers out of her hair. 

Propped up in the bed, Harry couldn't help but wish for a book to read. He watched as the old man set the remains of the hat aside, and picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet and began to read that. The girl had finished extracting feathers from her hair, and was now pulling them out of her eyebrows, grumbling to herself all the while. 

Bored, Harry sighed. He considered calling for a Healer and asking for another glass of juice, but discarded the thought almost immediately. Though he was no longer receiving all of his nutrients intravenously, it was embarrassing to have the Healer hold the the glass for him while he drank the juice through a straw. Having nothing else to do, he was about to settle down for a nap when the door to the ward opened. 

Harry perked up as he watched Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville enter the room. They spotted him and rushed over. Hermione hugged him enthusiastically, "We were so happy when we heard. You were asleep for so long, we almost thought you would never wake up!" 

He grinned, and tried to lift his arms to return the embrace, only to have them fall uselessly back to the bed. "I'm guessing that, since you're all here, we won the battle then," he said hopefully. He hadn't asked the Healers about this yet, mostly because he was almost afraid to hear the answer. 

Ron nodded his head happily, "We couldn't have done it without you though, Harry." Then he took up Harry's limp hand and shook it enthusiastically. Neville mirrored Ron's actions, and Harry sat back to bask in the happy glow that seemed to radiate from his friends. But something bothered him. Something about this scene just seemed wrong, though he couldn't think of what was out of place. 

Then it hit him. Other than Ron and Hermione, he didn't know any of the rest of this group in this world. And it bothered him that neither Remus nor Sirius were there. Biting his lip, he asked about them. Ginny and Ron gave him strange looks, and Hermione sighed and patted his arm. 

"Oh. Er... The Healers didn't say anything about your having amnesia, Harry," she said with concern. 

"Amnesia? Wait, did something happen to them?" Harry asked, upset. Both men had been fine when Harry had them the morning before the battle, just the other day... No, that had happened over two years ago, not two days ago. 

"Well, Lupin and my parents had work and couldn't come," Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him before he could say any more. 

"Harry, Sirius died four years ago! You know that! How could you possibly forget?" She had a distressed look on her face, and her mouth was a thin line. 

"Four years ago... but..." And then something occurred to Harry. He blinked slowly, and fixed his eyes on Hermione. "Say, what year is it?" 

Ginny snorted, "Two years after the final battle, of course, 2000." 

"But– but it was 2000 last time I was awake! The Healers said that two years had passed, so it should be 2002! The only way it could possibly still be 2000 would be if... I... came back," he said it slowly, wonder thick in his voice. Harry had never considered the chance that he might eventually return to his own world, had never even considered what his body there was doing in his absence. Now that he thought about, it made sense that a body lacking a soul would seem to be in coma-like state. "Oh, wow, this is so cool." 

Ginny bounced onto Harry's bed and gave him a strange look. "What do you mean you 'came back'? You didn't go anywhere! You've lying in the long-term ward for the past two years – we visited you every Christmas." 

Harry's mouth quirked in a grin, and he said, chuckling, "It's a long story. You might want to see about conjuring some chairs." With that, he told them about what he had been doing for the past two years while his body was lying comatose in a bed. 

---

"_Malfoy_ did all that stuff?" Ron asked, his eyes wide. 

"I know it sounds really far fetched, but that's what everyone said," Harry said, wishing he was strong enough to rub his temples. Another headache was on the verge of developing. It was the third time that Ron had asked the question, and it was starting to get on Harry's nerves. However, Harry decided, it could be a lot worse. At least Ron believed most of what he had said, as did Ginny. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was skeptical. "I'm sorry, but it sounds like a rather elaborate dream to me, Harry. I've never heard of someone having their soul knocked into another dimension just because they used the killing curse." 

Suddenly, Neville looked up. He had been quiet throughout Harry's entire telling of his tale, unlike the others, who had constantly interrupted Harry in order to argue about about something or another he had said. "And how many people," he asked quietly, "end up in comas just because they used the killing curse? Besides, I've read that you can't learn anything new in real dreams, and Harry says that he read a whole bunch of books in this other world he'd never heard of before." 

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, staring at Neville. She had clearly not expected such an astute observation from him, and was stumped to come up with a reply. Ginny glanced upwards and smiled encouragingly at Neville. "So really," she said, "all we have to do to test Harry's story is ask him about the books that he read." 

"And see if the Muggles he mentioned are real," Ron added, warming up to what Neville and Ginny were saying. Hermione scowled for a moment, then laughed and broke into a grin. 

"I can't just stay upset about all of you shooting down my arguments. I'm too happy that Harry's awake again!" 

Ginny laughed as well, and then glanced at her wristwatch. She turned back to Harry, a sad look on her face, "Oh, we should get going. We promised we'd visit Neville's parents too while we were here. And Ron and Neville and I need to get back to work..." 

Harry nodded in understanding. His friends had all moved on with their lives while he was stuck in another world – or in bed, depending on how you looked at it. He turned to Hermione, curious. "Don't you have work too, Hermione?" 

"No, I'm in uni. I hope you're happy," she added with a grin, "I skipped my morning class to be here." Harry stared at her in shock, unable to believe that Hermione had cut school just to come see him. /Well, I guess I haven't been awake and talking for two years, so it's kind of understandable, but still.../ Seeing the look on his face, Hermione made a face and stuck at her tongue before laughing, and leaving with the rest of the group. Watching them leave, Harry lifted his hand slightly, attempting a wave goodbye. Harry felt a lot better than he had earlier in the day. He was back home, where he belonged. 

Across the room from him, the girl was using a pair of tweezers to pull feathers out from between her toes. 

---

Two weeks after his friends' first visit, Harry was reading a book that Hermione had brought him. Though he had never been one to read for pleasure before, his time in the other world had left its mark on him, and continued to crave books. As he turned the page, he stole a glance at about the room. The little boy's bed was empty, both he and the old wizard had gone home a few days after Harry had been moved to this ward from the Janis Thickey ward. The wizard's bed was not empty, however, it was now occupied by a woman who sported a pair of green cat ears and was busy reading a magazine. Across from the empty bed, the girl was busy trying to pluck out her newest growth of feathers. 

Harry had his entire attention focused on the book in front of him when the ward door opened, and so he didn't even notice the visitor until the man was standing right next to his bed and cleared his throat. Dropping the book, Harry looked up with amazement at the man. "You! I'm surprised you even came." 

Pulling up a chair to sit down in, Draco Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow at Harry. "What, haven't Weasley and Granger filled you in on what has been happening while you've been playing sleeping beauty?" he sneered, though it seemed to Harry that it was not particularly malicious. 

Clutching at the bedding, Harry glared. "If I remember correctly, you said that you didn't want to have anything to do with us anymore. Last time I checked, it was not considered normal to turn your back on the people you've made friends with at the slightest chance of hardship," he said stonily. This was exactly what Harry had spent the last two years trying to avoid thinking about. Though they had not been friends for long – since the middle of sixth year, really – it had hurt a lot when Malfoy had walked up to them in seventh year and said that he couldn't believe that all three of them –ÊHarry, Ron, and Hermione – had been so silly to think that he was actually their friend. 

"Well, I couldn't very well say something else and survive sleeping in Slytherin at night, could I?" Malfoy asked, the barest hint of a chuckle underneath his cultured voice. "Weasley and his sister told me about your wonderful adventure in a world where I'm some sort of pansy." 

"You– he– wasn't a 'pansy' – and, you know, she might take some offense to be thought of as a something nasty," Harry shot back sarcastically. 

The sadness in Malfoy's eyes belied the nastiness in his voice. "I don't think that Pansy is any position to take offense, considering she's six feet under," he bit back. 

Well. What did you say to something like that? "I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, "I know you two were friends." 

Malfoy let loose a loud bark of laughter, and the girl across the room glanced up at them, before returning to her feather-pulling. "I'm sorry too, I didn't want to kill her. But, seeing as she didn't really give me much of a choice in the end..." He shrugged, and his long bangs fell forward, hiding his face in shadow for a momen. Had Harry not known the other wizard as well as he did, he would have thought that Malfoy was crying. After a moment, Malfoy reached up and tucked his hair back behind his ears, "Enough about that, though. Tell me about this angel-me." 

"He wasn't an angel," Harry said, "he was a bit of a jerk. He couldn't cook, couldn't fly, and kept on asking annoying questions when I didn't feel like talking." Harry glanced at Malfoy, then released the big guns, "And he took Muggle Studies." 

"What?! The outrage– that's soiling the family name," Malfoy grumbled, though it seemed to Harry that his grey eyes twinkled ever so slightly. 

"And being friends with a Muggleborn and a Weasley don't 'soil the family name'? And that's not even mentioning that you were friends with Harry Potter," Harry teased, settling back into the friendly bickering that had plagued his conversations with Malfoy since the middle of their sixth year. 

"That's different, I was corrupting you people. And I'm actually related to Weasley on my mother's side, so that's not as bad as it may seem at first. At least _he's_ a pureblood, which is more than I can say about you, Potter," said Malfoy with an air of superiority. 

"My, I'm so glad to see that your manners have improved over the past two years," Harry mock growled, laying on the sarcasm as thick as he possibly could. Then a thought occurred to him, and he asked in a much softer voice, "Why didn't you come with Ron and the rest two weeks ago, then, if you're ready to make amends?" 

Malfoy sighed, and dropped his gaze to his lap, mumbling something. 

"What was that? I didn't hear it." 

"I said I was ashamed to come. I was a jerk back in seventh year when I said that to the three of you. I was afraid of what my father might do, what He Who Must Not Be Named might do. Everyone expected me to be a Death Eater – I didn't want to know what would happen to me if I refused..." 

Remembering the Malfoy in the other world, Harry reached out and rested a feeble arm on his friend's arm. "You would have probably been disowned," he said quietly. "And Lucius might have tried to kill you. You– the Malfoy in the other world, I don't know what happened to him when he didn't go over to Voldemort, but he was living in Remus' house in the middle of nowhere. I think he was hiding out. Don't worry about it, you're not the only person to ever run away from his problems." 

Malfoy leaned forward on Harry's bed, his head resting between his crossed arms. "I'm not brave like you and Weasley and Granger. I do the things I do because that's the way I am." 

"I know," Harry said. "And I'm not unbearably tolerant. I get frustrated and angry with the way you act sometimes, because that's the way I am." 

"You are an idiot, Potter," Malfoy said, raising his head and laughing. 

"So are you, sometimes." 

"I know." 

They smiled at each other, and sat there in silence for a while. For the first time in two and a half years, the little voice in Harry's head was quiet. 

---

A month after his twentieth birthday, Harry Potter left St. Mungo's in a wheelchair, pushed along by Ron. The Dursleys, though notified of their nephew's recovery, had never bothered to come see him since he had awoken. Of course, murmured some of the hospital staff, they had never bothered to visit him when he was in a coma. As it was, Harry was released into the charge of Mr. Weasley and his wife, who were more than willing to have him in their home until he was fit to live on his own. "It's so empty dear," Mrs. Weasley had explained when Harry had protested to this arrangement. "Everyone's off on their own now except for Ginny. We won't hear of you going anywhere else." 

As Ron pushed him down the street, joking about letting go of the handles at the top of a high hill, Harry looked at the world around him, and smiled. It did not look that different from Evans' dimension, but it felt immensely different to Harry. He would always miss Sirius and feel guilty about Cedric, yes, but somehow having them alive did not make up for losing all of his friends, all of the people he cared about. 

Yes, it had been an interesting adventure, but now Harry was ready for a different kind of adventure. 

---

And thus endeth the fic (yay! I'm done!). Would anyone be interested in either a prequel or a sequel taking place in the alternate world? Because Alternate Malfoy has been bugging me about it nearly the entire time I've been writing this thing... 

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this fanfic :) I know I didn't thank you personally in each chapter, but I'm really not the kind of person to do that type of thing. Your reviews did make a difference, however – I always try to write more/better when I know for sure that someone will actually read what I've written. So, anyway, thanks for suffering with me through my first fic of the fandom! :) 


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